


Wars and Tours

by Winterscribe



Series: Pineapples and Bullets [2]
Category: Bandom, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholics Anonymous, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Anorexia, Anxiety, Awkward Mikey Way, BDSM, Black Parade Era, Bottom Frank Iero, Depression, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Family Dynamics, Family Fluff, Frank Iero Is A Little Shit, Frank Iero Is A Sweetheart, Frank Iero is a Size Queen, Haunted Houses, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, POV Alternating, Pet Names, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Ray Toro Is a Good Bro, Ray Toro is a Sweetheart, Revenge Era Frank Iero, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Sub Frank Iero, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-25 03:21:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30082692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterscribe/pseuds/Winterscribe
Summary: Domestic bliss never lasts long when you are a touring musician or a mafia prince caught in a turf war.This is a direct sequel toI Think I Love Youand you must read that one first to understand this one.
Relationships: Bob Bryar/Original Female Character(s), Christa Toro/Ray Toro, Frank Iero Sr./Linda Iero, Frank Iero/Brock Rumlow, Kristin Blanford/Mikey Way, Lindsey Ballato/Gerard Way
Series: Pineapples and Bullets [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2214291
Kudos: 3





	Wars and Tours

**Author's Note:**

> Tags will be updated as the chapters progress. Most of the current tags carry over from the previous part in the series.

Frank pants out and steps back a little, "You're killing me!" His body is covered in sweat and his muscles are already twitching and aching from exertion. He folds over and puts his hands on his head. He looks up at Jack who is equally sweaty. Frank grins at him, "You gonna make it over here old man?" 

"I think I can," Jack pants. He wipes his forehead on the edge of his shirt, leaving a wet spot on the light gray fabric. Even though it's been several months since his gunshot, it wasn't fully healed and it was giving him trouble still. Right now it was inflamed and not happy.

"I can go. At least two more rounds." Frank huffs. He is lying, "Come on, bring it. Hit me with your best shot."

Jack forces himself to take slow deep breaths through the fire in his lungs. Stepping closer to his brother-in-law, he nods. "Pads up. Ready!" He shifts his weight onto one leg and kicks the other towards Frank's head. 

Frank blocks the kick with a grin. He throws a defensive hit into Jack but he's being predictable. He can feel it in his bones. He watches Jack move. He can tell he's starting to hurt, "Getting sloppy." 

Jack pants hard and hesitates before conceding and nodding. He's done. He knows his limits and deeply suspects Frank is well beyond his. The kid looks as though he's ready to pass out at any time. Adrenaline pumps through his body and now that he's standing still, his brain begins to catalog all of his aches and pains. Ugh. He'll be taking a soak in the tub tonight for sure. He approaches Frank to help him undo his protective padding. "You ok?" 

"Yeah. I'm gonna be jello tonight. B's not gonna be thrilled with me. We have a walkthrough for the new house at 6." Frank smiles at Jack, "Your hole still bugging you?" 

"It's mostly healed but sometimes it acts up. The skin is pretty pink with new skin but the muscles still have some time to go. I'm like Brock's future," he chuckles. "Think your legs can hold you up while we shower or did you wanna head home instead?"

"I should be okay. I should be asking you that question, swiss cheese." Frank smirks as he pats Jack's shoulder, "What did B say about the uh, gun and weapon stuff?"

"Basics and defense only. You'll be able to defend yourself should someone attack you. And I'll give you the fundamentals of how to handle weapons and use them against an attacker. Which technically falls into the defense category."

"Sweet. We talked about it before and he was less than thrilled at the idea of me and weapons." Frank shrugs. 

"He's still the same but trusts me to make sure you are safe and knowledgeable. I spoke to him and he agreed that doing this as a preventative will increase your chances for survival and decrease the risk of injury in the future. He likes to be prepared for all things. I just reminded him of that." Jack opens the door to the showers for Frank and follows after him. He selects a locker and shoves their gear away before picking up a clean towel and entering a stall.

"I just wanna play with guns." Frank grins, "I mean for safety…"

Jack laughs and shouts over the sound of the shower spray as he washes his hair, "Yeah, maybe don't say it like that around Brock, okay?"

"I won't." Frank laughs. He washes his body like Brock would and is out in a flash. He wraps the towel around his waist and pads out to his duffle. It feels weird to be at the gym and not _engaging_ with Brock in the shower, "I am starving." 

"Same. Did you want to grab Brock and get lunch after this? Or leave him out of it," he snickers.

"He's been in meetings all day. I'll bring him home food." Frank smirks, "Let's get food."

Jack steps out of the shower and joins his brother-in-law at the locker. He dries off, uncaring about his nudity. "Got a place in mind?" 

"Nah. Just something good." Frank says as he slips into his sneakers, "maybe burgers?" 

"I can do that. Are you gonna be good eating a real burger or are you thinking of a place that has fake meat? Please don't make me eat a turkey burger." Jack gives him a look as he dresses, sliding on his tee-shirt before pulling on his combat boots. Once they are laced up, he pulls out his weapons and begins hiding them on his person.

"My wonderful husband has made me get better meds from Choi. I can eat red meat in moderation." Frank nods, "He got me on anxiety meds too. I don't think I need them." 

"That's great, bärchen. How do you feel?"

"Stomach wise, a hell of a lot better." Frank smiles as he zips his bag and throws it over his shoulder, "I haven't taken the others. I'm… worried they will kill my creativity." 

"Why would anxiety meds kill your creativity? It's supposed to just help you not feel so panicked. It should help you relax and be more creative, not less," Jack comments with a head tilt as they head out of the gym.

"I know. It's just me overthinking." Frank sighs, "I think I'm just babbling."

"Well then stop it," Jack laughs. "Why are you babbling?" 

"Easier said than done, big brother." Frank unlocks Stella and slips in, "I just don't talk with others about my issues." By others, he means, Brock. He doesn't want his husband to worry. More. He pulls away from the curb and into a parking spot outside a little hole in the wall burger place. Frank smiles at him, "They make amazing burgers." He gets out and heads inside the place. 

"Lucky's famous burgers, huh," Jack reads the name of the building. 

"They even have Frank-friendly burgers and Jack burgers." Frank beams at him as he glances over the menus. He debates on what to get his hubby. He makes a decision on the L.E.S burger but he'll wait to order it, "I overheard Brock talking to either Brooke or Emilio, it sounded serious. Do you know what's going on?" 

"When was this?" 

"Yesterday." Frank replies, " I feel like it is about the _family business."_

Jack thinks for a moment, about food choices and how to best answer Frank. He nods in response. "I do. But let's order food and sit first." 

He nods in return and approaches the counter. He orders his food and a milkshake with it. He steps back and waits for Jack to order. Frank tries to read Jack's expression but the fucker is keeping his expressions smooth and under the water. 

Jack orders a BBQ bacon burger with fries and a shake and waits with Frank to get their food. Once they have their meal and they are sitting at a table, he picks at his fries while he speaks, "Your assumptions are correct. And it has plenty to do with Gotti." 

"How much shit are we in?" Frank asks. 

Jack tilts his head back and forth as if weighing the answer. "I wouldn't consider _us_ in shit but there's plenty of discord and strife going on. Last week, four of our guys were shot up due to a turf war."

"Oh god. Their families? Are we…" he stops himself. Is he allowed to be a bleeding heart like this? Does he have to be a hardass now? He looks at Jack conflicted all to hell about that whole thing.

"We are okay. We've been in contact with their families and have supported them in any way we can. Unfortunately, it won't bring them back. We found out that some of our guys have gone out for revenge. And that this isn't the first time something like this has happened. Like gangs, a lot of our people consider this their family. And when a brother is gunned down… they are going to kill their murderers." Jack takes another fry and sighs, "We're trying to find a way to stop the senseless killing." 

"I have an idea but it would only add to the chaos…" Frank speaks low, "This is all over the stupid agreement… it feels like there's more to it. Maybe it's just me being conspiratorial." Frank takes a bite of his burger and frowns, this is in a way his fault. 

"I don't disagree with you. This seems rather overkill for Gotti. It doesn't make any sense they Gotti would be this…. Drastic over Brock not marrying his sister."

"If you ask me, Gotti is a little bitch who needs his ass spanked and put to bed early without dinner." Frank groans.

"You're not wrong but I would choose a different sort of punishment." Jack had found out about the stunt Gotti pulled while Brock was in Italy last year. He wasn't happy he had been ordered not to kill Sebastiano on the spot.

"I've been told I need to watch my mouth especially when we are there because as a new member of the family, I could make things worse by saying some dumb shit like I would like to make that piece of shit a candidate for dental implants," Frank grumbles. 

"Aww, don't feel bad, bärchen, I've been told the same." He pats Frank's arm before taking a bite of his burger.

"Emilio or Brock?"

"Both." 

"Emilio, for me." Frank sighs and takes a sip of his milkshake, "Whatever happened to that girl you were seeing… accent girl?"

"Wanda. And she had to fly home to help her brother." 

"Damn. I'm sorry. There's always Carol. Or Lucy… the bartender?" Frank wrinkles his forehead. He checks his phone and makes a face. He was hoping Brock would at least check in but nothing. He sends a quick text to his love to see if he wants a milkshake.

_Frank: Chocolate milkshake?_

_Brock: Hey, I'm sorry I've been busy. Milkshake sounds great. Probably going to be my breakfast and lunch. I love you._

Jack shrugs, finishing off his burger with BBQ smeared cheeks. "It's okay. I'll find another girl. There's plenty of fish in the sea."

"Exactly. We'll find you a nice German girl to pop out a few _kinder_ for you." Frank smirks. Frank sends a heart emoji to Brock then returns his attention to Jack, "You still available to go with me for my tattoo appointment to get my Frankenstein?"

"Of course. But I'm not having kids, so you can put that out of your head," smirks Jack. "I'm determined to be a bachelor for the rest of my life."

"Yeah, that's what you say now…" Frank smirks, "Oh are you coming over with us to do the walkthrough for the house?"

Jack sticks out his tongue briefly before taking a sip of his milkshake. "It's what I've always said, so there. And yeah, if you want me to, I'll join you."

"I mean, you are gonna still live with us right? Or is your house gonna be Brock's baby nursery?" Frank smirks as he pushes his fries at Jack.

"I thought I was getting my own private abode. A brother-in-law suite instead of a mother-in-law." He stands and gathers the trash, throwing it away before rejoining Frank. "I'm not letting any kids in my space, just gonna tell you now."

"You love Amelia." 

"I tolerate her in small doses, much like I tolerate the baby. I don't mind kids but I don't have the patience or desire that Brock or you have. A few minutes or so is more than enough for me."

"We are building your little cottage on the property. Except my husband doesn't understand what brother-in-law's house means and you have your mini McMansion. It's close to done." Frank smiles softly at Jack, "I gotta order food for my huckleberry at home. Gimme a minute." 

Frank orders Brock's food and shake then hurries out of the car. He heads back to the apartment. He promises to text Jack when they were heading to the new place. He heads for the door and opens the door quietly. 

Frank set the burger, fries, and shake on the counter. He kicks his shoes off and strips off his jeans and drops his clothes into the washing machine, "Baby?" 

"I'm in the office," comes his reply.

Frank pokes his head into the office. He speaks softly, "You busy?" 

Brock looks up from his desk and smiles tiredly at Frank. "Not at the moment. How was your training at the gym today?"

"It was fine. I brought you food." Frank sits in the chair across from him, "Everything okay?"

"The proverbial dumpster fire is extinguished, for now, so yeah, it's okay." Brock sighs and rubs his head. "Thank you for bringing me something. Where did you go?" 

"Lucky's." Frank answers with a smile, "Come sit with me and I'll rub your neck after you eat." 

With a nod, Brock stands and follows after his husband. Entering the living room and dining room, he spots the bag of take-out and heads for it. He grabs the milkshake first and begins drinking it while he looks at the sandwich and fries. 

"Did I say thanks yet? Thanks. This is going to be brunch, lunch, dinner, and dessert all at once it seems."

"I figured you didn't eat. And you're welcome." Frank smiles, "Anything you wanna talk about?"

"Eh, it's a huge mess. I don't even know where to start." Brock moves for the couch, leaving the burger and fries on the table. Right now, he's only interested in the milkshake.

Frank frowns, he notices the disregarded food. He's not going to say anything, it is a work in progress. "I am sorry you are having to deal with it, baby. You aren't even the head yet," he sits beside Brock and scratches the back of his neck.

"Thank God," he murmurs around the straw. The milkshake was good. "This isn't your fault, though I thank you for the sentiment. I'm just glad that things aren't worse. And that Pietro Gotti is seemingly the agreeable one. From what I understand, he doesn't really care that I'm breaking the agreement. He seems perfectly alright with looking for an alternative. His heir on the other hand…."

"Needs to have his face rearranged."

Brock smirks at his response. "I like the way you think, baby." 

"He hurt my husband and tried to ruin my wedding. Not to mention people on our side had to perish all over his overly-tanned and overly-cologned ass tantrum." Frank speaks with a firmness, "I'd love to put him in a pine box."

"Hmm, so Jack told you then? I'm assuming."

"I asked." 

"Ah. Well, I would also enjoy seeing him in a pine box but sadly, it has to wait until a new agreement is formed. Plus, it's not a good thing to kill someone equal in rank, power, whatever you want to call it." 

"I know. Formality. Traditions. Yada yada… I will hit him in the face he touches you again. I don't care. They can have me drawn and quartered." Frank speaks low as he runs a finger down Brock's spine.

"While I highly appreciate the sentiment, _I_ care. I'd rather not have anything happen to you. You're my everything and I need you safe," he replies equally low.

"Okay, I'll be good." Frank leans in and kisses his cheek, "I could go get the fries for you?" 

"Prob'ly cold by now." It's a weak excuse and he knows it. The milkshake was heavy in his stomach. It limited his already weak appetite. And while food had begun to stay down months ago, he was still struggling to eat more. It was illogical and unexplainable. He didn't care about his weight as most did. He knows on some level the food is safe and will probably not make him sick, and yet he couldn't bring himself to want it.

"Babe," Frank speaks, hoping that he won't have to get into this again. 

"Microwaved fries are pretty gross too," Brock says weakly and with a small, hesitant smile, "so maybe I can try the burger?" 

"If you're not hungry, don't eat," Frank replies. He's given up trying to make Brock eat, he loses every time. Or he makes Brock sick. This is why he can't take the meds, what if they make him stop caring?

Brock gives him a look before rising and going over to the fast-food bag. He shouldn't have drunk the entire milkshake. It wasn't healthy and has only made him less interested in real food. However, he pulls out the burger, unwraps it, and quickly shoves the damn thing in his mouth. He finds that if he doesn't think about it or if there's little to no pressure over it, his brain doesn't revolt against the action. He'll trip over himself and stab something if he focuses on it. This wasn't a physical problem as he had first thought. Bi-weekly sessions with Sam and a new head doctor helped him figure out that this was all in his head. He chews slowly and tries hard to put all of his focus on anything and anywhere.

Frank rises and walks into their bedroom. He decides to put sweats on and a raggedy band shirt. They were probably going to have a bad night and he would much rather be warm and cozy. 

With a knee bouncing, Brock fidgets in the seat at the dining room table. The burger is fine. It tastes fine. He's fine. Actually, the burger could use a little warm-up. He debates overthrowing the patty into the microwave or not.

"Told you that you didn't have to eat it." Frank sighs as he walks out of the bedroom with his laptop. He plants himself on the couch, "It's not a big deal and I don't wanna make you feel like you have to eat and that I'm being a dick."

"You aren't being a dick." He stands and begins pulling apart the sandwich, placing it on a paper plate. "How can I get better if I don't force myself a little? Besides, it's easier if I don't think about it. I can rationalize several reasons why I should and shouldn't eat this but in the end, I just have to do it. As the commercials say on TV, be like Nike and just do it. Do, or do not. There is no try."

"I love you, Brock," Frank chuckles. He opens his emails and groans, "It seems we have another meeting with the label. We aren't making music fast enough."

"What, you mean to say that taking several months off for our wedding and house renovations, Sunshine's baby, Gerard's baby, Mike-n-Ike's baby, and me and Jack both being shot isn't okay by the label? Well, damn," snickers Brock as he shoves the burger patty in the microwave for a minute.

"Apparently not. I guess we are not allowed to have lives or wives." Frank sighs, "I'm sorry baby. You married a corporate toy."

"That's okay. At least you love your job. Unlike millions of Americans." Taking out the burger and throwing it back into the sandwich, he takes the plate and sits on the couch with Frank.

"I rather enjoyed being a housewife." Frank smiles, "But I do love playing with the boys." 

"And I know you miss it," he replies, leaning over and kissing Frank's cheek. "When do they want to see you?" 

"Tomorrow. I do miss it," Frank grins at Brock, "Are you going to come with us?"

"Yeah. I kind of have to. They weren't thrilled that I left for almost 3 weeks." Brock eyes the burger in his lap, highly conscious about its presence. He turns his focus back to Frank and the laptop. "I might not have a job after this." 

"Oh. So I get to be your sugar daddy." Frank grins wide, "Hmmm… my handsome sugar baby."

"Can you imagine what people would think if that were the case?" Brock laughs. "We'd break almost every stereotype."

Frank beams at him, "I would happily take care of you." He leans over and kisses his lips softly.

Brock smiles and looks at his husband fondly, "The next time someone inquires about our relationship, you have my permission to say that. If only to see the look on their faces."

"Deal!" Frank giggles and he closes the lid on his laptop, "What do you wanna do tonight?" 

"I don't know. Maybe we can play it by ear after we do the walk-through of the house."

"Okay. I'm excited to see the place."

~~

Frank stands in the kitchen of the new place and stares at his husband talking with the contractor, a man named Miles. The place was amazing and he couldn't believe how much work they had done. He watches his husband walk over to him with a smile but he can see something in his eyes. 

"Brock, this kitchen is amazing," Frank said softly. 

"It is. They've done amazing work so far," he nods.

"The bathroom in the master! I can swim in that!" Frank exclaims as he wraps his arms around Brock's middle.

"I'm glad you love it." Brock kisses him lightly.

"I do. But I love you more." He grins. He can't help but feel all squishy inside, "What do you think?"

"I'm not too thrilled on a few things but overall I'm impressed with the work they've been able to expedite so far. Not bad for a month's worth of work." Brock looks around at the framing and thinks about all of the things that are being delivered in the next several weeks.

"Do you think we'll be in before we go to LA?" Frank asks, softly rubbing Brock's back.

"Miles and I spoke about that. We've got crews working around the clock. We might make it so long as there aren't any delays. I can't say that I'm optimistic about it but I am hopeful."

"I mean even if we have to take a couple of days and come unpack, I'm not too worried about it." Frank nods.

"Agreed. I think it'll be fine." Brock looks around for a moment, frowning. "Where'd Jack go? Is he still outside at his house?"

"I think so. He seemed excited to get his own house." Frank glances around.

"Wanna go check it out?" Brock offers.

"Sure!" Frank nods as he slips his hand into Brocks and follows him outside. 

As they walk, Brock points out the plans for where the pool will be going as well as the large deck. It's outlined by bright orange spray paint. "Remind me later to call up Buddy for the waterfall feature. He wanted to go over the materials with me. I think I'm going to paint the inside of the pool black. Thoughts?"

"Won't it heat it and make it too hot to swim in?" Frank scratches his head, "What about a deep blue with like sparkle to it…"

"I don't know, but it's something I'll ask Buddy. I've seen black pools on TV. Anyway, I'd thought you'd be excited over black."

"Yeah, I am. I just don't wanna boil the nieces and nephews," Frank tries to contain his smile as he replies, "We are making a witch's stew." 

Chuckling and shaking his head, Brock offers his hand to Frank before continuing towards the second building that will be constructed. They've got a little way to walk on the 2.5-acre property.

"There would be plenty of room for like a small dog house out here… maybe even like a playhouse for the kids." Frank offers as he glances around.

"Playhouse for the kids sounds ok but what do you think about a treehouse?" Brock points out a large oak tree that he would barely get his arms around. It looked strong and healthy. "As the kids get older, I think that would be fun. And if we build it right, we could do a sort of camping feel. Sleep under the stars. Maybe have a stone campfire? Thoughts?"

"Fire Pit?" Frank offers, "A treehouse could be fun." He glossed right over the dog thing. Maybe next time, unless he just comes home with one. _It followed me home… Can we keep him?_

"Yeah. That'll be a separate project though after the houses are finished. I like the idea of s'mores outside. Got the idea from the hotel in LA. Remember the Charlie?"

"I do! The Charlie was amazing!" Frank beams up at him.

“It was! It gave me so many ideas for the trim in our house. Especially the kitchen.” 

"I can't wait to see it done. I think you have an eye for this baby." Frank leans into Brock a little. 

“I may have zero fashion sense but I do like to think that I am pretty decent at designing a house. You, of course, have free reign to decorate the house how you see fit, _amore_.” Brock grins at Frank.

They approach a smaller, but equally grand foundation of a house. The framing was finished and the builders were working on the drywall. Jack was walking the property. He seems to be happy. Jack notices them and jogs over, face wide with an excited grin. In a snap decision, he throws his arms around Brock in a tight hug, “Brock! Frank! This is so cool! I’m so happy! I love you, brother.”

“I’m happy you are enjoying this, little brother,” Brock beams at Jack.

“I am.” Jack turns to Frank and wraps an arm around him, “What do you think about the main house? Are you excited?”

"I am in love with it. I am happy you like it! I cannot wait to move into here." Frank hugs him back. 

“Me either. It’s going to be great,” replies Jack. “I can’t wait to decorate it.”

“Frank and I were talking about having a treehouse,” Brock offers.

Jack’s grin widens, “Really? Sweet. I’m sure the kids will love that. Us, too.”

"We should throw a party for our housewarming," Frank suggests excitedly. 

“That’s a great idea,” Brock grins. He leans over and kisses Frank’s temple.

"Thank you for building this house for us, baby." Frank turns his head and kisses Brock, "It's gonna be so pretty."

“It’s going to be amazing. You two ready to go? Or did you want to check out the rest of the property?” 

"I am up for whatever. Jack, what do you think!" 

“Just a bunch of trees and grass, right,” smirks Jack. “I say we skip out for now just to keep Brock from finding more things to build and spend money on.”

“I am not that bad!”

"You kinda are." Frank giggles, "Firepit? Treehouse? _Dog house..."_

“There is no dog house, _tesoro_.” Brock gives him a mild and mostly playful look. “Remember?”

"Not yet at least." Frank sighs. He takes Brock's hand, "Besides, we have a meeting to get ready for."

“Meeting?” Jack asks with a head tilt, “What kind?”

“Label meeting. They aren’t happy the band isn’t making music quickly and I might be fired.” Brock’s tone was far too happy for the words.

"You could always just quit?" Frank comments, a little unhappy. 

“Nah. Relax, I was just being nonchalant over it.”

Jack snorts and shakes his head. “Tell Lauren I said hello, and to hit me up if she wants to.” Ever since Wanda hopped on a plane and wasn’t returning, he was considering being occupied for a night. Though, he wasn’t normally one to Netflix and Chill with the same woman more than once.

"Oooohhhh!" 

“Oh hush,” Jack admonishes.

"I will tell her to call you!" Frank grins wide. 

~~

Frank stands in the lobby with Brock. He feels so underdressed compared to the others. He rubs his neck and tries not to show how uncomfortable he is. The band chats quietly as the meeting room is prepped for them. 

"Gentlemen. This way." A pretty blue-haired girl leads them to the meeting room.

Brock pats Ray on the back and smiles at him before taking his place next to Frankie. He interlocks his fingers with his husband and kisses the back of his hand. “You ready?”

"Yeah. About as ready as I'll ever be." Frank sighs and follows the guys to the glass room with Brock. 

"Gentlemen! Have a seat!" Lauren says with a huge smile. She slides folders in front of each boy as they sit then hands one to Brock. 

Lauren continues, "Gentlemen, welcome back. I hear we have had new family members and a wedding that happened. Congrats guys." 

Another man walks in wearing a smart suit with glasses, he frowns at the band before taking his seat. "Let's get to business." 

"Who are you?" Ray asks, skeptical of this person.

"Dominic McClain, I represent the record label. I'm here on the behalf of Mr. Vargas, he is out on bereavement. Mr. Holland is out with another client. Inside the folders are all of your contracts. We have included the payout for this next album. You will be expected to arrive in Los Angeles to begin recording. You are two weeks behind schedule." The man speaks with a coldness to his voice. 

"Uh. That's. We would have to leave Valentine's day," Frank says concerned. This would be their first Valentine's together.

"And… send your wife flowers," Mr. McClain adds. 

"Husband." 

"Mazel. I need you gentlemen to understand that you are on a clock. And inside if you flip to page 4. There is a projected timeline," Mr. McClain comments.

Frank flips open the folder a little behind the others. 

"Upon failure to meet the set deadlines without justified causation will result in a monetary penalty." Ray reads aloud, "Are you kidding me?"

"We have a tour schedule that is over a year-long?" Mike comments softly. His eyes are wide with shock.

"I can't be on the road for a year. I have a new baby," Ray says firmly.

"I'm sure that we can find a good replacement for you, Mr. Toro." 

"No!" Gerard snaps.

"We are expecting four singles from the album. From the demos you've sent so far, we like the sound of," Mr. McClain adjusts his glasses, "The Five Of Us Are Dying. We have a production team who will help you fine-tune the sound." 

"We have to live in California for a month. Tour a year and put out four singles. If we don't, we get fined." Frank says skeptically.

"If that's an issue, Mr. Iero, I'm sure that we can tap talent from elsewhere to fill any… gaps in the band," Mr. McClain replies dryly.

"No significant others. No pets. No drinking. Weekly drug test as well as mandatory physical trainers." Bob looks at Brock, "This is… strict."

Brock pipes up, keeping his voice carefully void of emotion and tone neutral. “And what if the current Tour Manager just so happens to be the significant other to one of the band members?”

"Can you maintain professionalism while on duty?" 

“Forgive me, but I think my record speaks for itself considering the previous Tour Manager’s history,” Brock says lightly.

"I have no history of the other tour managers. As long as you can keep the boys in line and productive, we won't have any problem. For you, Mr. Rumlow, we have your compensation package detailed out. It's also got incentives built in to keep the product on track," Mr. McClain speaks stiffly. 

Brock stares at his unopened folder for a moment. He looks up at Mr. McClain before opening the package and glancing over the numbers. He passes it to Frankie without looking. Instead, he focuses on McClain. “Where is Mr. Osten?”

"Mr. Osten is busy." 

“I’d still like to speak to him. Considering he was the one who hired me.”

"Consider me his liaison." Mr. McClain is unamused by Brock.

“Fine. I’d like to speak with the band in private for a few minutes. Will you excuse us?” Brock asks.

Mr. McClain looks at Brock almost shocked, "Oh. Uh. Yeah. That's fine. Excuse me, gentlemen."

Frank watches the man leave the room and counts down for the whole place to erupt into chaos.

_3\. 2. 1._

"No! Absolutely not!" Ray snaps.

"A whole year on the road! My kid is gonna be born without me!" Gerard shouts.

"We get fined for being late!" Mike shouts. 

"I don't wanna go on a diet," Bob pouts.

Brock waits until the four of them quiet down a notch. He looks at Frank. “Have you anything to say?”

"I don't like how he makes us sound like some product in a store." Frank pouts.

Brock nods, satisfied with what he has heard. He has a plan. “Do you boys trust me?”

"Yes!" The band speaks in eerie unison.

“Good. Then let me do all the talking when he returns. Feel free to add in after I tell him what I think about these new terms. Okay?”

The group nods. 

"Where's Lauren?" Ray asks. 

Mike looks up from the paper, “We have to get mental health evals each week." 

“I do that every two weeks,” Brock smirks. “I can get you in on my family plan.”

"Why are we getting piss tested?" Bob asks.

“Probably all due to Alan,” snorts Brock.

"I am not happy about this." Ray hisses, "I'm not missing my child grow up.”

Lauren knocks on the door, "Are you guys okay? Need anything?"

The boys try to speak but Brock holds up a hand to silence them. He knows they are angry and have every right to be but they don’t need to direct it to Lauren. It’s not her fault. He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “No, thank you. We are ready to speak with Mr. McClain.”

"Okay… I will send him in," She nods and frowns.

Mr. McClain rejoins the room and sits in his seat, "So, have we reached an agreement?" 

“The boys and I have, yes, but unfortunately, we are not in agreement with you.” Brock begins, “I feel the terms need to be renegotiated.”

"I think you misunderstood the contracts in front of you. There are no negotiations to be had here. You have been tardy on delivering on your end." 

Brock nods and bows his head a moment. “There were extenuating circumstances and I have made those perfectly clear to the label. I have had the backing of the label since I took over as Tour Manager. Why the sudden change now?”

"I understand that you had an unfortunate accident and I am glad to see you've recovered nicely. The band, as a whole, is expected to meet certain requirements. As a product, they are not fulfilling it." Mr. McClain answers, "You were excused. Not them."

Brock smiles. “That was exactly what I needed to hear. Thank you, Mr. McClain. But unfortunately for you, we will no longer be needing your services or the Labels. You are fired. From here on out, the band My Chemical Romance will no longer produce for you.” Brock rises to his feet. “Come on boys, we’re going home.”

"What? No. Breach of contract will result in legal action Mr. Rumlow!" Mr. McClain was not expecting this and finds himself shouting, "You cannot quit without repercussion!"

“I think you misunderstand my words, Mr. McClain,” Brock says coldly, all pleasantries dropped. “I said you are fired. There’s a difference. You see, you may think the band works for you, but in reality, _you need us_. You need the bands who produce for this label to think that the only way they will ever make it in the industry is to hire people who only see them as money-makers. Without them, you wouldn’t have a job. Here’s how I see it. We don’t need you. _They_ don’t need you. So go ahead and take your legal action, Mr. McClain. I have damn good lawyers and deep pockets. But the boys are no longer yours.”

Lauren grins from the door.

"I don't think you understand. These boys signed a contract. They are obligated. I work for the label. They work–" 

Brock cuts him off, “I don’t care. My lawyers will be in touch later this evening. Boys, do you agree with this course of action?”

The band nods. 

“Oh, and Lauren? I’m going to be funding the band for the new album and tour. If you wanted, I’d be happy to have you on my team. You can have Mr. McClain’s job, or whatever it is that he does,” Brock nods to the blonde as he ushers the band out the door.

"I'll give you a call later, Brock," Lauren smirks. 

"You are in breach of contract!"

The boys head for the door, silent. Are they without a label? The music.

"We own all your master copies!" The man shouts from the meeting room as the door closes.

Brock scoffs under his breath. A ringtone from his pocket cuts off his train of thought and he pulls out his cell. “Rumlow.”

"Come up to the fifth floor," Mr. Osten’s voice comes from the other end, "Bring the band."

“Alright. We’ll be there in a few minutes.” Brock hangs up and turns to the boys.

"Babe?" Frank speaks softly.

"Mr. Osten wishes to speak with us up on the fifth floor. Come on. It'll be quick, I promise. Then, we'll get milkshakes after and go home."

The boys follow Brock up the elevator and up to Mr. Osten's office. 

"Feels like we got called to the principal's office." Gerard comments.

"Kinda does, huh. Hence the treat of a milkshake after," Brock snickers 

A young woman with long nails and lashes opens the office door for them," Mr. Osten is expecting you. Water, tea, or coffee?" 

"Nothing for me, thank you," replies Brock. "Boys?"

"No thanks." Gerard answers.

"Can I get water?" Frank asks.

"Of course!" 

The rest of the boys turn the offer down.

"Yeah! Go have a seat." She says with a huge smile. 

The band takes seats at a large dark wooden table and anxiously waits. The office door opens and Mr. Osten steps in. 

"Gentlemen. I hear you quit." He says with a smile as he approaches Brock with an outstretched hand. 

"Not the way I'm choosing to look at it, but sure," grins Brock as he happily shakes the man's hand. 

"Come on, let's talk."

"By all means," Brock nods for him to go ahead.

The band settles as Osten does.

"What can I do to avoid all this ugliness…"

"I would like to know why there were so many changes, to begin with," asks Brock.

"Well, the situation with Mr. Turner was a factor in the decision. We also know the band has... _vices_ ," Mr. Osten begins, "I also would like to keep these boys in good shape."

"Look, I'm not gonna lie, there were a few things that I wouldn't mind implementing in their lives but I'm not going to force them or have them be fired. I'm strict but this is stricter than me. You know I've turned these boys around. The band is doing great."

"Why are we expected to go on the road for over a year with very little breaks?" Ray asks.

"Well, you'll have new music and you should be promoting it. And Mr. Rumlow, I know your track record, I expected that you would be on board." Mr. Often says firmly. 

"I am. Within reason. I'm not about to rip apart families for the sake of profits. Ray just had a baby. Gerard and Mike's are both due soon. A year on tour without frequent breaks is unacceptable. They can promote another way. I'm happy to set them up with interviews and TV spots. Radio spots. Magazine interviews. We can get creative. Hell, even virtual concerts can be a thing. My point is, the tour needs to be fixed."

"Okay so, the tour schedule is an issue. What else do you guys have an issue with?" Mr. Osten asks.

"I just feel like penalizing us when we don't do what you want is a little excessive." Ray comments.

"And you can't force someone to seek mental health services. That's against the law as a violation of their rights," adds Brock. "In fact, instead of asking what we have an issue with, let’s just re-write the damn thing and you can ask what you can do for us to make money instead of what we can do for the label."

The man frowns and pushes a button on the phone next to him, "Josephine, can you get McClain up here."

"Right away, Mr. Osten, sir," a pleasant female voice says on the speaker.

"He's a dick." Bob comments.

"Yes. He is. He's good at his job." Osten says firmly.

"I disagree with that but I don't think my opinion matters in this instance. I know for a fact you can run a business well and successfully without crushing your employees or being an asshole to get results. Vinegar and honey, Mr. Osten."

"I understand. He's not a pleasant man. He's like a ghoul." 

"You are the head of the label, right? Or just this section?" Brock asks.

"I am the head of the label." 

"CEO huh? So this is your baby. Your creation; yeah?"

"Yeah."

"When McClain walks through that door, I ask that you remember why you started this company and why you hired me. I ask that you remember the sacrifice that these boys have had to give for the label and the even greater sacrifice that is being demanded now. Remember that life on the road is hard and can be damaging but the love of music is what brings the band, the label, and the fans together. It's supposed to be about the music, not the money."

The door opens and a stone-faced McClain walks in, "Mr. Osten… oh. You." 

"Me," replies Brock.

"Why am I here, sir?" McClain asks.

"We are drafting up a new contract for the band and Mr. Rumlow." Mr. Osten smiles warmly, "Come and sit. We have work to do."

"You going to throw a tantrum and quit again?" McClain looks at Brock.

"Not if we get what we want. We don't need you," Brock answers McClain cooly, "As I said before, I'm perfectly capable of privately funding the band, the tour, the albums, and the business on my own. But I'd rather spend time with my husband, brothers, nieces, and nephews. This is why I'm trusting _my band_ with you; the label. I also happen to like the CEO. He seems to be a pretty decent guy."

"You realize we are a business, sir." Mr. McClain responds with a straight face.

"Yes." 

"Gentlemen. Let's start negotiations." Mr. Osten puts a hand up.

"Fine." The stiff-man pulls out a notepad, "We need to talk about the delinquent recording time." 

"The boys do owe us studio time but they shouldn't be punished. Mr. Rumlow not only was shot but he also got married to Mr. Iero. Congrats boys by the way." Osten comments before continuing, "I know Raymond had a baby and the Ways are expecting. It's been a time of growing and changing."

"Fine. They need to be in Los Angeles in two weeks. The mansion has been rented as well as studio time. The production team is waiting for them." Mr. McClain frowns, "Unless there's some special event they can't miss."

Brock leans forward and looks at Gerard. "Did you inform them about your plans for March?"

"We need time off in March. Like two weeks." Gerard nods at Brock, "And I was thinking that we could maybe…work over there. I know a producer who is willing to work with us. I know a place we can stay." 

The lawyer growls quietly, "Mr. Osten?"

"I mean, why not! We can make it profitable and do some press." Mr. Osten offers with a smile.

"We booked a… fine. What else…" he speaks through gritted teeth.

"All of the stipulations you included in the contract, Mr. McClain, you can just cross those out. My boys don't do drugs. I monitor their drinking. We don't party. And I'm not forcing them to go on a health and wellness plan or to seek mental health care. They can get a physical once a year to ensure things are in order but you cannot force them to speak to a counselor," says Brock with folded arms. "They have medical insurance now."

"You know damn well that these… men will give in to the temptations of the road. We had to _bail_ Mr. Way out of trouble a few times," Mr. Mcclain comments.

"That was before me. My boys are not like that anymore and purely under the influence of the old manager." Brock scoffs, "What, do you want the bail money refunded or something, or do you just prefer being petty?"

"I've been sober for months now." Gerard chimes in.

"For insurance purposes, drug tests are required monthly. I would also like to keep them on a wellness regiment. We need them to be able to produce a product we can market." 

"And they will. But I fail to see why drug tests are requested. You can't tell me they are required, it's not in their insurance contract. I should know, considering I read it," Brock frowns slightly.

"You read all three hundred pages?"

"I like to know what I'm paying for before I do something. And I wanted my boys to be taken care of. The label doesn't offer insurance. So I did."

"Wait. What? The label does cover the band…" Mr. Osten looks to Brock in concern.

"We would like for them to switch plans so we can monitor their well-being. As overall care for the pro- the band." Mr. McClain says stiffly.

"Can we not be called products…" Frank asks.

Mr. Mcclain ignores Frank, "Investing in their health is important to the label. Hence the health and wellness approach."

"Sure, except again, Mr. Turner never gave them any insurance cards or the information and so they've been paying all of their medical expenses out of pocket. They have private insurance now and damn good ones at that. _I_ monitor their safety because I actually care about them. They're family. People, not product." Brock bites his words towards McClain, "You aren't giving me a reason to keep my boys here with the label. Treat them with the respect they deserve or this meeting is over."

"Moving on, then," Mr. McClain groans as he crosses out health and wellness on the paper angrily, "The tour. I don't see why being on the road is that hard. You get to travel and play. A year is nothing." 

"Maybe you missed the part where we have 3 infants within the band family," Brock scowls, "but in case you did, there are 3 infants in the band family."

"Have the wives died in childbirth?" Mr. McClain comments, "Oh wait there is only one married couple. The girlfriends can manage."

"Get out," snarls Brock. "This meeting is over. You don't get to disrespect other people, Mr. McClain. And since you certainly can't maintain any level of professionalism, I think it's best to end this meeting."

"Mr. Rumlow." Mr. Osten speaks low, to be heard.

Brock glances at Mr. Osten with fire in his eyes. They burn with anger and demand recompense. How dare a so-called professional lawyer such as McClain claims to be, speak that way? Nobody gets to insult his boys or girls.

"With all due respect, don't talk for just a moment."

Brock nods curtly. He's interested in what the man has to say and frankly, he needs a moment to breathe. His hand twists his cane around while the other takes Frank's. The desire to just walk out and start a new label still burns in his chest. He can produce anything these boys could possibly need. Did they really need a label?

"Mr. Mcclain, you're fired. Clear your desk within the hour and return your expense card to HR." Mr. Osten speaks with a smooth voice.

Mr. McClain rises his feet and storms out, leaving the notepad. He slams the door behind him. The noise makes Frank flinch.

"Mr. Rumlow. I am willing to work with you on providing these men a break while on the road, the tour is going to be about a year long."

"Spouses should be allowed to visit. Maybe not travel with us the whole time… but you know," Ray trails off.

"There were several occasions in which I was able to fly down the ladies for the boys and still make the schedule. It's not impossible. Ray should not miss his son's first words or first steps. Christa can't be by herself all the time and raise an infant. Lindsey's due date is just around the corner with Kristen's not too soon after."

"Okay. If they feel they can balance, then I'm fine with partners being along for the ride. I'll be sure that all these boys are there for the birth of their children," Osten nods, "We need to discuss pay. Since this is going to be your next big deal, your pay has increased, as has yours Mr. Rumlow. Is what we had down an amount acceptable?"

"No. I'd like to increase it by $5,000." 

"You want $95,000 for yourself?" 

Brock shakes his head, "No, sir. I'd like you to give an extra $5,000 to each band member. Or take it from my pay. I don't need it. Whatever it is that you are paying them, isn't enough in my book."

"Oh. Okay. I can make that arrangement. About the recording of the album, I do want it on a schedule. I feel it will keep them on task but I will not be charging them money for missed days unless it's a situation where they refuse to work." 

"Deal. However, I'd like you to take all fees out of my cut instead of theirs. As a tour manager, it's my job to ensure they are productive. If they fall, it's on me. After all, they're starting families now. They've got other expenses to be worried about."

"That's another thing to discuss. Since you've taken on the role, your duties have seemed to expand past the road, I would like to offer you a full position as band manager. It's the same thing you do now, but you get more control of what, when, and where the band goes," Mr. Osten says with a smile.

Brock grins, "I do like control."

Frank snorts softly.

"I will need you to gather up band riders. You will need to submit a request for equipment. And, anything else you can think about for this new contract?"

He nods, "Yes. How long will the contract be valid for? I'm not keen on several years or several tours and/or album requirements before the contract is up. Especially since the band is currently in a contract and the rules seemed to have changed. I was thinking of one-year contracts. We can draw up new ones each year and alter–."

"Five years and two albums." 

"Excuse me?" Brock's lost and confused. He didn't want a new contract with a 5-year contingency plan.

"My Chemical Romance signed a five-year and two-album contract. Yours, Mr. Rumlow is a yearly thing."

"I see." He did not in fact, see. His limited knowledge in the music industry was going to be his failing. He didn't understand. If the boys were in a contract, how was it possible the terms and conditions of their new tour had changed from the previous tour? The thought gives him an idea.

"Allow me to change my wording then," Brock offers, "I understand that they are in a contract with the label. And, I'd rather not have to deal with legal action from you, sir. These terms and conditions are not the same as the ones we drew up last year. I'm asking that the next year, the next tour or whatever, that we be included– just like this right here. I don't want to be surprised again. We'll remain in the contract but the terms and conditions should be set forth by both parties, not just you and your lawyer. Instead of negotiations like this, we can just come in for a meeting and draw up the new paperwork. Does that sound fair?"

"The contract last year was for the specific tour but if you want the terms and conditions the same we can do that. It's only changed because of the amount of attention the band is receiving. We are putting up more money and want to protect our investment. We know these boys have been steered into smooth waters because of you."

"They're my family. I would do anything for them," he replies softly, looking at the band with a soft smile.

"That's a good thing." 

The band sits quietly behind Brock. In shock at the statement, they essentially are deemed valuable to the label. Frank squeezes Brock's hand to remind him he's there and loves him.

"So let's get this drafted up, your per diem is going to increase unless you boys feel you can manage your finances and receive weekly payment. We also have to pick the busses and Brock will need to hire staff. Roadies, security, drivers, and anyone else that he feels the band needs. That is if Brock wants to be your manager." Mr. Osten offers.

"Do I still get to travel with them? On the bus?"

"You are the boss, if you feel the boys do not need a tour manager, then you would have to travel with them…" Mr. Osten smiles with kind eyes.

Brock is silent for a moment, thinking. "And should I need to leave the tour? My father's health is failing and we have our own family business to attend to. If there's an emergency and I need to leave…?"

"That's when you would hire a tour manager to take your place on the road. You can work remotely from anywhere when it comes to taking care of the band on the backend." Mr. Osten replies, "Lauren did it while you were on the road. She was supposed to have sent you things to train you for this position. We knew you were the right fit for a leader for these kids."

"It's possible she did and I missed them. The last tour had… more than a few rough patches. That was mostly my fault. I like to think the chinks in the wheel have been cleared out, sir," Brock replies. "And I'd like to, again, formally apologize for my lack of understanding of this business."

"You're doing fine." Mr. Osten smiles. 

Ray leans forward and whispers in Brock's ear, "The binders." 

Mr. Osten presses a button on his phone, "Please send Ms. Cawyers up and have her bring her laptop."

A few minutes later, a small woman comes up and takes a seat next to Mr. Osten. She pulls her laptop up and opens the screen. He passes her a paper and she begins typing. 

"What else does Mr. Rumlow need to be added to this contract?" She asks with a small voice that sounded like a mouse.

“Boys, feel free to look over those terms and conditions and let them know if there is anything else you want to be changed or added. You should have a voice in this matter,” Brock says gently. He loves these kids so much.

"I don't think Brock should have any kind of decrease in pay. He's done so much for this band." Ray says firmly. 

“Uh, excuse me.” Brock points at himself and says, “Rich.” He points at Ray and the other boys, “Not Rich. Except for Frankie. You need the money, I do not. I meant what I said when I could fund the entire band. We _don’t_ need the label. I’d rather you guys take the pay increase because you are creating babies like rabbits and I love it.”

"Fine." Ray sighs.

“Love you, Sunshine.”

"Love you too, brother." Ray chuckles.

"I think that Brock should have a say in where we go and the dates." Bob comments.

"I'm not sure Mr. Rumlow would be interested in this." Mr. Osten comments as he looks at Brock. 

Brock frowns, curious. “Please enlighten me.”

"You would sit down with Lauren, and a few others to map out where and when the boys would perform. Since you know the road, it could be beneficial for them for you to take this up. But it's not something I am going to force on you."

"Would mean no more double shows," Frank grumbles at the memory of pulling off two shows in a day. 

“You mean I can give the boys a little more free time in each city so they can relax and not burn out being cramped on a bus or exhausted from performing show after show without a mental break,” asks Brock with raised eyebrows. “Where do I sign?”

"Are you happy with what we have drafted up?" Mr. Osten asks. 

“I think so, yeah. I’ll make sure they stay healthy while on the road and they don’t have to have mandatory physical training. I trust my boys; they are sober. I’ve made sure of that. They don’t need drug testing. I’ll take full responsibility for them and if anyone is getting penalized, it’s me. I’ll hire a tour manager on the off-chance that I need to step away, as well as any other staff. If we are changing busses, I’d like to find one that has a better kitchen so the boys can eat healthier. I absolutely want full control over the tour itself but if it has to be a year and not over 6 months, I will add quite a bit of gap in between the shows.

I feel I need to make it known to the label that Frank and I are in the process of building our house, and with it is a full recording studio and production room for the band to use. Once that is built, I expect the band to be utilizing those rooms instead of you needing to rent or hire someone else. That should cut down your costs.”

The young woman's fingers were clicking against the keyboard as Brock spoke. She looks up at him with a smile.

"When you say break. What are you meaning?" Mr. Osten asks.

“Time in between shows. The boys shouldn’t go from show to bus to show. That’s exhausting. They need days off, away from the bus.”

"Yeah. Unfortunately, that isn't going to be something we can give much leeway on. The band has the schedule for a reason. We can give on some things but not a lot." Mr. Osten passes over a schedule for Brock to see, the band is in a new city every other day, "They will not be expected to do more than one show a day. But this also means they can have an actual set for the stage. 

Brock sighs heavily before nodding. He hated the stress these boys were going to be put under. “Okay, but I want assurances that there will be no penalty for them leaving to be with family, especially during the births. I’ll make arrangements for stand-ins or something but my boys are not missing their baby’s delivery. They can rejoin the tour at a later time.”

"That sounds good to me. I wouldn't want them to miss out on anything important like that." Mr. Osten nods.

“Then I think we are in agreement,” smiles Brock.

"Fantastic. She'll print this up and pull the notary in." 

“Thank you, sir. And thank you for meeting with us. I like you and would hate to leave Reprise Records over something like this when we can resolve it.”

"Exactly. I know that you and I are reasonable men and that this band deserves the best." Mr. Osten rises and offers his hand to Brock.

Brock rises, smiling and shaking his hand, “Of course. All I want to do is give them the best in the world. A happy band makes unhappy but sellable music. I still want them to make something a little more chipper and a little less death based but I guess I need to wear them down a little more.”

"Oh, you know you love our goth death metal emo music Brock." Gerard chuckles as he pats Brock's back.

“I love you too, Emo. And you forgot punk in there.”

"I thought the punk part was only for Frank…not us?"

“It’s for the whole band, kid,” Brock grins.

A few minutes later the young woman returns with a man. She puts contracts in front of each man and steps back and waits for them to sign.

Frank signs the contract and pushes it forward. Two albums. Not bad. He can do that, right? The tour schedule looked daunting but they'd done worse. He rests his hand on Brock's thigh.

Brock signs his paperwork after taking several long moments to read over the details in the folder as well as the amendments. Everything looked good though he still wants to have his lawyers check it over. Once things are signed and notarized, they go over the details for the new bus.

The band chatters quietly. The copies of the contract appear on the table in front of them with folders underneath, "Inside the folder is all of the information for your stay in Los Angeles during recording. It is the location that Gerard had picked up previously. We will work together to figure out where we're going to be staying in Germany and recording. If that is all gentlemen I think meetings adjourned." Mr. Osten speaks with a big grin on his face as he stacks his papers. 

“I’ll contact you once we have a location in Germany, sir. My brother and in-laws will be meeting us there on a trip. Thank you for your time, sir,” Brock says, shaking his hand once more.

"Anytime, Brock. If you have questions, please give me a call and I will be glad to help." Osten shakes Brock's hand and leads the band out of his office.

Frank takes Brock's hand and holds tight. He can feel his husband’s exhaustion.

“Thank you again, sir,” Brock nods, ushering the band into the elevator. He sighs hard and runs a hand over his face. Suddenly his energy levels have plummeted and he was getting a headache. He leans up against the cool metal of the elevator wall. “So. Milkshakes?”

"Yeah! Let's get some sugar in our boss." Ray grins.

“Yes, please. And maybe caffeine.”

"My treat," Gerard says with a little smile as he pats Brock's back.

~~

Frank looks at Brock, he's annoyed and stressed about this flight. He stops at the door and waits for Brock to unload his luggage, "I think you packed everything in the house..." 

“What? Pfft. No. Not possible….” 

"You have two suitcases." Frank snorts. He can see the band inside the small airport waiting for them.

“That’s nothing, love. This is just the essentials.” Brock grins wide, excitedly. He spots the boys and his smile increases tenfold.

"You need some help, Rumlow?" Christa asks from behind him.

“Nah. I’m thinner, not just bones.” He sets down the suitcases and turns to hug her. Christa stops with Zach strapped to her chest, hugs Brock back.

"He's just bones. Can't even pick me up anymore." Frank snickers.

“Bullshit. Don’t lie,” Brock playfully glares at Frank as he hugs Christa back. “And I have zero qualms about sneaking off and flying back just to visit for a day. I need my baby love.” Brock leans down and kisses the baby’s forehead.

"He's been fussy today. He just wants momma to hold him." Christa smiles, "I would love that if you came back and visited me for a day or two." 

Frank pulls Brock's suitcase and his own into the airport. He leaves the husband and Ray's wife outside.

"Frankie!" The boys cheer as he enters.

He grins wide at them, "Hi guys!" 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Brock promises before hugging her again. “I gotta go but feel free to text me and send baby videos. To Sunshine. Of course. And me. Mostly me. Don’t tell him I said that.”

"I will send you all the baby videos. Will you give my hubby his phone charger? Love you, Brock. Be good. Try to eat something." Christa kisses his cheek.

“I love you too, sis. I’m always good.” He chooses to ignore her third request. He’s not going to promise anything.

"I'll call you tomorrow with updates on the house." She waves before letting him walk away, "Give my husband a kiss for me." 

“Okay,” Brock grins.

Brock heads inside, noting his lack of suitcases, and approaches Sunshine with a wide, happy grin. He moves in for a hug, only to grab the taller man and pull him down for a kiss. Christa said to give him a kiss for her. He’s pretty certain she would do it like this.

Ray makes a mixture of what he thinks is a protesting noise and an elephant trumpeting but he's not sure. His hands go out in surprise and all he can think is _Oh fuck. Frankie. Christa! I'm in so much trouble!_

Brock pulls away and looks at Christa, giving her a thumbs up and a goofy grin, “Did I do it right?!”

Christa leans against a post trying to catch her breath from laughing. Her thumb goes up as she shakes her head. 

"What the fuck, B?!" Ray asks with a red face.

Brock’s grin fades and his face morphs into one of innocence and mild confusion. “Christa told me to give you a kiss from her. I think I nailed the landing.”

"Yeah… yeah you did!" Ray says blushing hard. He pushes his hair back and chuckles. He makes an effort to not look at Frank. He is unsure what that angry little Tasmanian devil will do or say.

"Really," Frank says with an attitude. He is doing his best to keep from grinning and giving away his true feelings. 

Christa steps into the building, "I didn't mean actually! Goof!" 

“Well, you didn’t specify that,” he sasses playfully and with a wink. “On a scale of 1 to 10, how was my performance?”

"Six." Ray chuckles.

"Ten." Christa snickers as he approaches her boys. She leans up and kisses Ray, "Love you. Be safe." 

“Fuck you, Sunshine. I’m a ten.” Brock goes over to Frank and wraps his arms around him. “Right, baby?”

"Eight point five." Frank jokes. 

“Eight point five?! I’m better than that!”

"Yeah. I don't know about that." Frank teases.

Brock squawks indignantly. He was an awesome kisser! “Rabbit. Emo. Mike-n-Ike. Help me out. I’m a ten, right?”

"Maybe a nine?" Bob offers.

“Don’t make me kiss you just to prove you wrong, Rabbit.” Brock wags his finger at him in a playful warning.

"I mean, you're not the worst but a ten… I dunno." Mike chuckles.

"I mean as your husband, I don't get kisses like that. I get half-hearted kisses." Frank teases.

Brock just glares.

"Oh you know I'm teasing, you're the best kisser," Frank says as he squeezes Brock's butt.

“Damn right,” he growls before grabbing Frank and dipping him, kissing him hard and fierce.

Frank grips his husband's arms and enjoys the kiss. God, he loves him.

Brock pulls them both upright and laughs breathlessly. “Ten?”

"Twelve." 

"Gentlemen, your plane is ready to board." A man in a blue and white uniform. He looks annoyed with them and their antics. 

Ray kisses his wife and heads for the gate. 

"We are lucky that you got a private plane. No more commercial flights." Gerard says, patting Brock's arm.

“To which we are both thankful, my dude.”

The band loads into the plane and relaxes in their seats. The plush bright white seat melted around them. Gerard tosses a fluffy black pillow at Ray, seated on the bench across from him. 

"This plane is nice..." Frank comments, he is suspicious of his husband. The chic black and white interior were a little too on the nose for the band. 

“Oh good. I hoped you would like it. Does it seem emo enough?” Brocks asks lightly.

"It is very emo chic." Ray comments.

"It's very nice, babe." Frank answers.

“Great. It’s a mash-up of you, the emos, and me, the chic. I’m glad it’s comfy because we’re going to be spending a lot of time here.”

"Did. Brock… I'm gonna ask a question." Frank looks at his beautiful himbo husband, "Did you happen to let's say rent this plane for us?" 

“No.”

"You perhaps, didn't buy this plane, right?" 

“No.”

"Brock." Frank pushes.

“You didn’t happen to see the name that’s on the plane? It’s on the side. Feel free to take a look outside,” Brock smirks and hooks a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the open door.

"Brock. Do we own a plane?" Ray asks with a curious smile.

“You should really go take a look,” Brock nods.

The band moves to the door as a group and peers out individually. On the side of the plane near the tail, in scratched black letters was the band’s name.

"Oh my god." Gerard comes back inside with a confused smile, "Thank you, B."

"Husband of mine, if we have a tour bus… why do we need a plane?" Frank asks, "This plane is gorgeous."

Bob wraps his arms around Brock and squeezes him, "Aw thanks, dad! You're the best!" 

Brock laughs and squeezes Rabbit back. “Thanks, bunny. We need a plane for the long distances we have to do during this tour. Not sure if anyone noticed our trip to Europe, Australia, Canada, and Asia but yeah. And I’m not flying commercial anymore dammit.”

"Thank god! I hate commercial flights!" Mike sighs taking a seat, "Thanks B!"

The pilot announces the departure for Los Angeles as the doors close. The band takes their seats. They start the flight with laptops out. The group works on things for about an hour before boredom sets in. 

Bob starts quietly drumming on the table absentmindedly. Gerard takes notice and nods his head. He looks at Ray. 

Frank smirks at Brock, he gets to see how a song might come together. 

"Mama, we all go to hell." Gerard speaks along with the beat, "Mama, we all go to hell." 

Frank runs fingers into Brock's hair.

Brock interjects, “Why. Why are you going to hell? What’s wrong with heaven?”

Gerard smiles at Brock and mumbles a little, "I'm writing this letter and wishing you well… momma we all go to hell." 

"Mama, we're all gonna die!" Gerard exclaims, "Stop asking me questions… I’d hate to see you cry." 

“Well then stop dying so much,” Bock chuckles at Gerard. “Dork.”

Gerard tries to keep it together, but can't and barks a laugh, "You're not helping Rumlow!" 

"What if… it's something like when we go don't blame us." Ray offers. 

"Aw you getta see us write a song, B!" Mike grins wide. 

Brock scoots down in Frank’s lap, aiming for more head and hair scratches. “Does this mean I’m gonna go blind?”

"No that's from masturbating too much." Frank snickers.

“Pfft. Please. I debunked that before I hit 15,” he snorts in reply. He tilts his head back and bonks it against Frank’s chest. 

Frank snickers and continues running his fingers in Brock's hair, "Brock's the pureblood catholic. Maybe he can help us write this." 

"So we're going to hell Brock. What should we expect?" Gerard asks with a soft smile.

“Fire and brimstone,” he replies in his best southern Baptist accent.

"We let the fires just bathe us." Ray offers.

“That’s not how it works, Sunshine. Cause you’re so pure you’re gonna be an angel. Not like Frankie, who’s gonna be my little demon with me.”

Frank stops petting his hair and makes horns with his pointer fingers, "You'll be at my side, sweet prince." He leans over and kisses him.

“I’ll be a prince of hell. I’d rather not be but I’m already doomed for all eternity according to the Pope. Oh, well.” Brock shrugs and returns the kiss.

"Well, he's going to hell too…" Frank replies softly. 

"Is it too morbid to say something like they are making your coffin mama?" Gee asks Brock.

“I mean…” he hesitates before just giving up. Can’t beat ‘em, might as well join ‘em. Maybe he can help make their screaming emo death metal punk shit sound better. “Nah. She’s gonna die soon too.”

"Momma we’re all full of lies…" Gerard mumbles as he trails off, "They're building a coffin your size." 

"So. This place we are staying is allegedly haunted." Frank speaks softly to his husband. 

“Because Gerard and his aesthetics,” Brock nods. “Except I don’t believe in ghosts.”

"Yeah. You'll say that until Casper puts a finger in your ass..." Bob chuckles. 

"Hey. It is haunted. A bunch of bands wrote music there and had freaky stuff happen." Gerard defends himself, "And aesthetic matters."

Brock sticks his tongue out at the boys. “Just because freaky stuff happened doesn’t mean it’s haunted, dork. Just means the house is old. Not gonna knock the aesthetic. But you need to learn that life isn’t emo _all the time_.” 

"It is when it's made us money." Ray chuckles. 

Frank pauses his twisting of Brock's hair, "You're like king emo… you have no room to talk." 

The boys snicker and wait for Brock's reply. Brock tries to think of a comeback but fails. Instead, his face falls. He’s been trying to be less emo and more sunshine these last few months. “Yeah.”

"Maybe you could write the album for us," Frank suggests. 

“Please. I’m not that… Gerard is emo king. He’s the lyricist.” 

"You know I'm teasing right baby?" Frank speaks softly.

"Brock would write something sunny and sugary," Ray smiles at Brock, "Every snowflake is different like you! You're special too!"

"Could you imagine us playing that bright and bubbly stuff?" Mike asks.

“No, actually. But dammit if I ain’t trying,” laughs Brock. “I think you boys would somehow still manage to make it emo though. You have the skill.”

"Thank you!" Gee grins wide. 

"Brock, I promise one song in this album will be 'you friendly'," Ray assures him. 

"Yeah, you liked Ghost of You." Mike reminds him. 

"He liked how upbeat Headfirst for Halos was until he heard the words and was horrified." Frank giggles.

“You boys need psychiatric help,” Brock scowls. “That was a menace of lyrics.”

"But the previous song on the album is the opposite, like _don't_ kill yourself…" Ray tries to offer. 

"He got mad at me when I had him listen to it." Frank grins wide 

"Yeah! We're all about _not_ ending your life to spite your enemies." Gerard nods.

“While I love that idea, I just think your lyrics of choice need some work in my opinion. This means it’s worthless because clearly everybody else in the world loves it. Doesn’t matter because, at the end of the day, I’m the only fan in the world who loves you for you and not the music.”

"It cracks me up that you married Frank but you hate our music." Mike snorts.

“Don’t worry, I have faith in you yet that you’ll make something I will love.” Brock winks at them before tilting his head back to look up at Frankie. He purses his lips for a kiss.

Frank leans in and kisses him, "I think he's secretly a fan like he pretends to wear his _hangover_ _baby_ headphones but he's actually playing our album." 

"He's buying all our merch and stashing it." Mike giggles.

"He's got an MCR tattoo." Bob offers.

“I do not. Frank can verify,” he snorts, shaking his head. 

"I dunno..." Frank bites his lip and spins the lip ring, "There are places I don't see often." 

"Dear diary, today I met the dreamy guitar player from my favorite band in the whole world. My Chemical Romance, with a heart over the i. The short one is cute but man, that fluffy dreamboat," Ray jokes.

Brock laughs, “Mmhmm… He’s a keeper. Wouldn’t mind sailing away with him. Don’t tell my husband though, he might take offense. And stay out of my secret diary!”

"Shouldn't have left it when you were having a sleepover with my wife." Ray teases.

Gerard chuckles. 

"To the moon, Alice." Frank laughs as the plane shakes ever so slightly as it hits turbulence.

“Come fly with me,” Brock sings in his best Sinatra attempt. “Let’s fly, let’s fly away. If you could use some exotic booze. There’s a bar in Bombay. Come fly with me, let’s fly, let’s fly away.”

"Shouldn't it be… fly me to the moon. And let me play among the stars. Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars…" Frank sings back to him with a finger snap accompaniment.

“In other words hold my hand. In other words, darling kiss me. Fill my heart with song. And let me sing forevermore. You are all I longed for. All I worship and adore. In other words please be true. In other words I love you,” Brock sings, smiling up at Frank.

Frank leans down and kisses him, "In other words, I love you..." 

The boys make a gagging sound with a snicker to follow it. 

"Oh shush, you asses." Frank hisses then turns back to his hubby, "I'm curious to see what this place looks like where we are staying." 

“Same. Anyone got pictures or something?” Brock looks to Gerard, knowing that out of all of them, he was the most excited to be going to this location and was sure to have something they could look at.

"I do!" Gerard pulls his laptop out and pulls the website up. He turns the laptop to face the band, "It ain't dark and gloomy Rumlow. So there!" He sticks his tongue out at him.

"It's like...bright and cheerful. You sure this is haunted?" Ray asks.

"You sure you got the place right?" Mike snorts, "It's less castle dungeon and more suburban soccer mom."

Brock leans over and takes the laptop from Gerard and begins scrolling through the photos. “Eh, just wait until nightfall, Sunshine. Everything is a million times scarier at night.”

"What is a ghost gonna tell me about veganism?" Ray jokes.

"Or explain the benefits of jade bag eggs?" Bob snorts.

"Laugh it up, fuzzball. You ain't sleeping with me when you get scared." Gerard grumbles. 

Frank smirks, "I do enjoy four-poster beds." He's thinking back to Italy. 

"Brock. This is up your alley. It's fancy and posh like you," Mike says warmly, "Princely."

"Thanks, Mike-n-Ike. And don't worry boys, you can sleep with me if you get scared. Right, Frankie? I'm sure I can protect the babies from the Casper under their beds."

"You can't shoot a ghost," Frank teases.

"Oh yes, I can. According to several ghost-busting TV shows." Leaning over, he returns the laptop to Emo. "It's kinda got a Spanish feel to it, mixed with old British. It's going to be nice staying there. I'm already looking forward to the pool."

"And the sunshine." Frank adds, "He's complained about the snow every day since we've been back."

He smirks, "I do love me some sunshine." 

"Yeah you do," Ray winks.

"I like things hot and spicy too. Like a sauna." He pauses in his faux flirting as an idea hits him. "Ohh, we should have a sauna at the house!" 

Frank sighs, "We can't add on now." 

"Sure we can. As an after project or something. They'll finish the houses and pool first, then the sauna. Unless it's close to winter before that, then I want the sauna before the pool." He pulls out his cell phone and makes a note to ask Miles if it was possible to add a free-standing sauna to their build.

Frank runs a thumb over Brock's forehead. 

"So, pool, sauna, Jack’s house, gym, and recording studio." Frank states, "You sure you're not trying to run a commune?" 

"Oh don't give him ideas. He'll wanna buy more land and move us all in." Gee chuckles.

"I already tried that. It got nixed. Besides, it's not a commune, it's a harem of cute emos."

"He's only wanting that so he can have your babies. Like a less creepy Baba Yaga." Frank giggles.

"It's not stealing if they've been freely offered," snickers Brock. "But seriously, I just want all you boys close." 

"Hence why he moved to Jersey to be close to Ray and Mike." Frank smiles softly. His husband loves the band so much. 

"I moved to Jersey for the land. And if it just so happens to be exactly in between my brother and in-laws' houses, then I totally didn't ask the neighbor to sell me some of his land just so it was perfectly centered." He may or may not have, but he wasn't about to tell the boys that. Nor the fact that he did factor in the distance their new house was going to be to the Toros.

"Buy a castle and the girls will move in."

Brock raises his eyebrows, "That can be arranged..." 

"He'll do it." Frank chuckles.

"Anyways wanted a castle in Scotland," Brock comments, "or Ireland. I hear those are pretty cool."

"And cheap!" Mike adds.

"Gentlemen, we will be landing at LAX in the next five minutes." The pilot announces gently.

"Oh, damn," Brock playfully snaps his fingers. "I was gonna sneak off into the bathroom and play seven minutes in heaven. Oh well."

"With who?" Frank laughs.

"Me. His secret boyfriend." Ray winks.

"Stop giving away all my secrets, Sunshine," he laughs. "Then they aren't secrets no more!"

Ray laughs, "It ain't a secret you wanna floof." 

"It's why I'm gonna steal your mini-me." 

"Until he can talk back then he'll return it." Frank snorts.

"No, it's when he can outrun me, remember? I'll never make it to the talking stage. He'll be 2 and running faster than me and I'll be out. Here you go, brother, love you, bye," he laughs.

"And yet you keep Frank around..." Bob chuckles.

Brock pats Frank's thigh, "I can outrun him." 

"He thinks. Jack's been pushing me to do more cardio," Frank comments, "and weight lifting." 

"I can still outrun you _tesoro_. Since I know you can't outrun Jack and I can," he smirks. "But don't worry. You'll get there one day." 

"When he's wheelchair-bound." Bob snorts.

Frank frowns as the plane touches down and sends them forward a little then back. They are here. Los Angeles.

"Who's ready to go meet Slimer?" Mike asks.

"I ain't afraid of no ghosts," smirks Brock. He understood a cultural reference!

Mike smiles wide. 

The band exits the plane and is whisked to the mansion. The view of the skyline is fantastic. The estate was gorgeous and filled with antique furniture. After unpacking and a quick dinner and a couple of drinks by the pool until it was dark and getting cool, the band parted ways for their beds.

~~

Breathlessly, Frank flops beside his husband with a love-drunk grin on his face, "God. You're amazing. I can't get enough of you."

Brock turns onto his side and wraps his arms around Frank. He kisses him. "Give me ten and I'm good to go again." 

Frank moans into the kiss, "A little sunshine and you're a teenager. Can I help move this process along?" 

"By all means, baby," he replies huskily.

Frank places a kiss on Brock's neck with teeth as his hand runs up his chest and carefully pulls at a nipple. He sucks on his neck as he grinds his hips into Brock.

With a breathless moan, his hips buck and roll into Frank's. "Fuck, baby." He rolls over on top of Frank, kissing him.

The bedroom door crashes open and hard footsteps rush the bed. The sheets fly up and another body joins them in the bed. Before Frank can even reply, he stares at his husband as a stranger's cold arms touch his side. 

"Jesus Christ, Mikey!" Brock jumps in his skin. "What the fuck are you doing?!" 

"B. Brock. There is someone in my room!" Mike stutters a little as he pulls the covers around him.

"Mikey. Kid, I love you, but, uh, we're a little..." 

The door bursts open, "Brock?" Ray asks meekly. He closes the door behind him.

"What?" 

"Can I sleep with you guys?" 

"I. I wanna crack a sex joke but…" He glances at Frank. "Help?"

"Yeah." Frank groans, "Good thing you weren't in me…" 

Ray slips into the bed with them on Frank's side. He hands Frank underwear with a weak smile, "Sorry." 

"At least we got round one finished," huffs Brock. He slides off Frank and lays in between him and Mike-n-Ike. As annoying as he is, his skin itches to cuddle them. "Not going to lie, I've always wanted a naked cuddle pile with all you boys but this is not what I had in mind."

"I was in bed and a woman whispered my name." Ray says with a nervous laugh, "I thought I was crazy until the bed moved." 

Frank pulls his underwear on and growls, "So much for a sexy night." 

"I'm willing to cuddle for ghost protection!" Mike nods. 

"Great because I'm not putting on underwear. Because I'm not getting out of the bed to get said underwear," he says flatly. "I'm comfy and warm. And don't believe in ghosts."

The bedroom door opens and a head pokes in the room, "So… are we having a sleepover?" Bob's voice calls into the room.

"Really..." Frank groans.

"I think there's something in my closet." 

"That's probably just Gerard," offers Brock. "Just a heads up, I'm naked. But by all means, join my emo harem cuddle pile."

Bob joins the group and cuddles Mike. 

"I'm going to bang pots and pans around." Frank tries to move but he's surrounded.

"The only banging to be done was me," snickers Brock.

"You get the master suite with the California king." Frank grumbles, "All that space to ourselves..." 

"That was the plan. But at least I love our new bedmates. Feeling a little drafty up top though…" Brock's phone rings from the nightstand. "The fuck? I can't reach that. Someone answer it." 

Mike passes the phone to Brock.

"I said to just answer it, but thanks, Mike-n-Ike." Brock takes the device and answers the phone, "Rumlow." 

"Heeey." Gerard's voice comes from the other side.

He sighs into the phone. "Come on over. The rest of the boys are here too. Hurry up though, I'm tired."

Gerard comes in quietly and crawls into the bed, "I'm sorry. This place is creepy." 

"Hey B..." Mike speaks aloud.

He answers low and sleepy, "Yeah, Mike-n-Ike?" 

"I thought you were the top?"

"Huh?"

"You said that you were getting banged… I thought you were the top, not the bottom. And just a moment before Gee called, you were asking Frank to get on top of you."

"What? No. That's not. I didn't. What?"

"You did." Mike nods.

Brock frowns, totally lost and wondering where the heck Mike-n-Ike got the notion that he was a bottom. "No, I said I was doing it. The only banging was me."

"Which implies you are the catcher." Mike nods.

Brock frowns and thinks about this for a second. Then he realizes he must've said it wrong. "Well, fuck." 

"It's a lost in translation thing baby." Frank says softly as he smiles, "I was the one getting banged."

"Though, I don't mind you on top," he grins at his hubby.

"You better not." Frank smirks, "Maybe we can have shower sex tomorrow. Unless you four need to shower with us too?"

"Nah. Maybe take a bath with our big protector." Ray jokes before yawning. 

"Ok but just so you know, I take bubble baths," chuckles Brock. He reaches over and paws at Frankie. "Come here. Up. Koala?" 

Frank crawls on Brock's chest and lets his legs relax between Brock's. He takes a deep breath and cuddles him. He's curious how long Brock will take to notice he's got clothes on and remove them.

Brock wraps his arms tight around Frank and hooks his ankles over his. He yawns, fully capable of sleeping on his back now thanks to his still-healing injury. The extra body heat under the covers is making parts of his soul very very happy and he subconsciously wiggles closer to Mike-n-Ike; the only man currently touching his side. Maybe he could get his cuddle pile dream granted after all. He just needs Sunshine and Gerard to close the gap and he'd be a happy dude. Except for just one thing...

Ray scoots closer and cuddles into Brock.

The muffled sound of fabric tearing is the last thing Brock remembered hearing before he rips the offending garment off of Frank and tosses it somewhere on the floor. 

"I liked those." 

"I'll buy you new ones," he murmurs, overly warm and perfect. He turns his head and buries his nose in Sunshine's curls. He's out like a light soon after.

~~

Frank wakes before everyone. His husband's hold had loosened and the four other men had moved in even closer to his husband. He slips out of bed and finds pants to wear. He needs a drink of water and maybe he will work out. He finds himself with a cup of coffee in a chair beside the pool watching the sunrise. It felt magical. 

In his sleep, Brock feels the lack of pressure on his chest and rolls over, wrapping his arms and legs around his husband, tugging him in close. He dreams of the Ghostbusters and Scooby-Doo.

"Brock," Mike grumbles as he tries to get away from the vice grip.

" _Go to sleep_ ," came the mumbled, still-asleep reply in Italian.

"B! 'm not Frankie!" Mike pinches Brock's arm kinda hard. He tries to squirm away.

Brock jerks hard and his brown eyes snap open. His heart races and he struggles to understand what's going on, where is he, and _when_ is he. His hands reach under the pillow, going for a gun that isn't there.

Ray mumbles in his sleep a little and snuggles close to Brock. The warmth and movement caught his attention and he needs to make Christa stay and not leave, "No work today." 

Breathing hard through his nose, Brock tries to calm himself down. It takes a few moments before recognition kicks in. His heart's still pounding hard in his chest. He forces himself to lay back down and curl up, content to being Sunshine's substitute Christa. He could use a little comfort at the moment.

Gerard wakes up and stretches before slipping out of the oversized bed. He can't help but smile at the content look on Brock's face. That man needs to be smothered in affection. Bob goes next. He doesn't look back. He's gotta pee and fuck he needs coffee. His movement wakes Mike who follows after him. His hair is disheveled and he looks like he's slept for a hundred days. 

After a while Frank goes back into his room, he wants to shower with his husband but upon seeing Brock being the little spoon, he knows that ain't happening. He sighs and sits on the bed near them. Their writing call time was for an hour from then, he could use it to get ready. Or be lazy. He scoots closer to the pillow. Is he in arms reach of Brock? Probably. He'll be fine, his husband is asleep. He pulls his phone out and debates dialing his mom.

The bed's dip in movement causes Brock's dolphin brain to register it as _Frank. Leaving_. And so his arms snake out, one eye-opening but barely seeing. They wrap around Frank's waist and pull him down and into his embrace, snuggling him.

Frank makes a little oop sound as he is yanked into his husband. He is counting down until Brock tells him to stay in bed and sleep in Italian. 

" _Stai a letto e dormi,_ " mumbles Brock.

"But baby, you should get up and shower with me," Frank says softly as he tries to move in Brock's arms.

Burying his nose in Frank's neck, one hand presses Frank tighter into him, hips rolling just slightly. He feels the solid mass behind him and presses back, too.

" _Daddy_ … I wanna play." Frank whispers. 

A muffled sigh of a groan escapes from Brock and again his hips roll and push into the two bodies surrounding him. Frank's words filter through his sleepy brain. He can get on board with this idea. But also sleep is calling him. He drifts in and out of sleep; his instincts in control of the bus.

"Kick Ray out and I'll get you off." Frank whispers again, "I want you in me, _daddy_." 

A sleepy and mostly incoherent mumble falls from Brock's lips. It's a mix of words as several thought trains crash in his head. He wants to sleep, Frankie, cuddles, and sex. 

Ray rolls his hips into the warm body in his arms and presses lips to soft skin.

Frank pushes his ass against Brock. He puts a little arch in his back as he grinds. He lets out a little moan at the idea of being fucked by Brock with someone else in their bed. 

A soft moan escapes, Brock's brain slowly coming back online and onboard with this idea. His hips roll again, body heating up and the blood rushing south. A whimper escapes. It's not enough pressure. He needs more.

Ray pushes his hips up and into Christa. His dreams are a weird mix of sex and music. He lets out a moan at the soft body in front of him. He fights the urge to just take as his fingers grip a hip pulling it back into him hard and instead waits for the invite.

"Oh fuck," Brock moans soft and breathless. His lips seek out Frank and kiss his neck. His hand slides down Frank's body to grab his cock and stroke him. 

Frank softly moans and grinds against Brock. His voice is deeper and has neediness to it that is new and almost shocks him, "Baby, fuck me..." 

He shudders hard from the demand. He's awake enough now. His hand pumps Frank harder as he kisses and nips up his neck. "Fuck, you're so damn sexy. Need you, so bad." 

There's a solid pressure up against his ass and it takes a second for Brock to realize what and who it is. He stills, unsure what to do now. It's not the first time Sunshine has greeted him with morning wood and it won't be the last.

Brock's voice wakes Ray and he shoots out of the bed. "Brock I'm so sorry!" Ray stumbles back and lands in the chair next to the bed, "I'm gonna… I gotta call my wife." 

Brock looks over his shoulder and rolls away from Frankie and onto his back. His dark chocolate eyes were lust-blown and wide. The sheet slipped during his move and rests on his stomach, barely covering the obvious tent. His eyes can't help but stare down at Ray's lap, confirming what he already knew. The base animal part of him is very interested, causing his mouth to water. He hits himself mentally. Not a good idea. Go away, intrusive thought.

Frank shimmies out of his sleep pants and slips into space next to his husband's body. A hand slides up Brock's thighs and stops at his low belly, "Wanna play?" 

"Yes," he whispers without thinking. His legs twitch at Frank's touch.

"Are you staying or going, Toro?" Frank asks. 

Pulling Frank down to him, he kisses him heatedly, a moan escaping. He wants to help; to offer something he has zero business offering. He chalks it up to sex brain and not real.

Ray rises to his feet, even though a part of his brain was curious and trying to rationalize staying, he moves to the door, "See you at uh, lunch," Ray's voice is a little shaky before he exits and closes the door quietly.

"That offered blow job still stands, Ray," Brock says without thinking. His eyes widen at the realization. _Oh shit. How much trouble was he going to be in?_ He tries to salvage it and forces a small laugh out, "Uh, you remember. The joke…." 

Frank sighs. He knows his husband and how his brain works and that he still has a little crush on Ray. He always will and he can't stop that. Frank decides to growl a little then bite at Brock's throat. He was, after all, Frank's. No one else's. 

His whole body jerks, his hips bucking up into Frank and a loud moan escaping. "Oh fuck, yes!" 

Frank grinds into his husband as he sucks on his neck. He pulls his mouth back from Brock's skin and growls at him, "You're mine." 

"Please," he moans breathlessly. "Wanna taste…"

"What?" Frank leans up and kisses Brock before he pulls back and bites his lip. He rolls his hips against his husband.

"Deep throat me. Wanna choke..." Brock cuts off his sentence to moan and buck up.

"I have an idea," Frank whispers as he leans back. 

"Okay," Brock says. He's on board and ready for anything.

"34+35.” Frank comments as he shifts on top of Brock. Every time they've tried, something blocks them. He turns his body around and gets into position, "Ready?" 

"Oh fuck yes. Gimme." Brock arches his neck up, trying to get his husband's perfect cock down his throat.

Frank eases down with a groan before he sucks Brock down. It feels right, this was very much worth the wait. 

Brock earnestly sucks around Frank's cock, groaning in pleasure at the feeling of being full. His throat constricts around the length and his cock hardens.

 _She works hard for the money! So hard for it honey!_ plays loudly from Brock's phone. Frank hates himself for changing her ringtone. He just wants to taste his husband.

With a groan, Brock taps Frank on the thigh to signal him to get up. He hates his sister so much right now.

He pulls off Brock and sits beside him for a moment with a pout.

"Motherfucker she's got the worst fucking timing," Brock growls, grabbing his phone and jamming his finger on the answer button. "What?"

"Don't you growl at me," Brooke sasses. "I'm calling because I got an alert for a high-value purchase. Why did you buy a private plane? We have one. Did you sleep shop again?"

Frank lies on his side and presses lips against Brock's thigh as he looks up, "Again?" 

"Can you call back at a later time? I'm trying to get laid," Brock sighs. "And no, I did not sleep shop again."

"Hi Frank!" she shouts. "Then why buy a new plane?" 

"Hi, sis!" Frank replies as he kisses up Brock's thigh again. He adjusts his position on the bed so he is between Brock's legs. 

"It's for the band, okay? Now, will you leave us alone…"

"Not yet. Since I've got you on the phone, I need to talk with you about the Southside shooting."

"Brooke!"

Frank kisses up Brock's inner thigh. He's enjoying this game, the game of teasing his hubby.

"Oh _fine_." Brooke huffs. "Call me back when you're done having blue balls. If you don't, I'll call you again and make you listen to one of your boy's songs."

Frank reaches the home base, lifts his cock, and begins to pay attention to his balls. He may be a bad little _gattino_ but this is fun. He glances up at Brock.

"Yes yes yes I'll call you back." He bites off the moan that was threatening to come out.

His free hand strokes him loosely as he sucks harder and moans. He can feel how tense Brock is. What he's doing is working… good. He comes off his balls and moves up as he wraps his lips around the head of Brock's cock.

"Love you, sis– oh fuck, Frankie!" Brock hangs up his phone and throws it onto the floor. It clatters hard and probably breaks but at that moment he doesn't give a fuck. His hands fly to the back of Frankie's head, burying his fingers in soft hair and gripping tight.

Frank moans as he looks up at Brock before sucking harder. 

The moan that escapes Brock's mouth was loud and nearly porn-worthy. His back arches up. "Fuck! Frankie. Up. Wanna… need…" 

He does the opposite of what he's told and takes Brock deeper. He stops as his nose touches Brock's skin. His hips shift on the bed as his toes curl a little. He loves being bad like this. 

"Please. Wanna suck you." 

He pulls up and off, it's not fun when Brock won't play along. "How do you want me..." He wipes his chin and rests on his elbows.

"I want you to fucking finish what you started. Now get up here and ride my fucking face," he growls. 

"I was having fun." Frank pouts playfully. He shifts his weight and stands on the mattress, "I could just ride you instead..." 

"You can do that too. After I get your cum in my mouth," he growls impatiently.

"I dunno…" Frank hums as he stands over Brock. He is getting a little of what he wants but Brock is still restrained. He wants him to get mean, at least a little meaner. He's not gonna get it. He steps up and lines himself up and knees down for Brock to take him into his mouth. As soon as he feels that warm velvet heat around him, he thrusts a little forward and lets Brock get used to him there. Once he's certain Brock is good, he goes in. His hips pump into Brock's mouth. He moans loud and grips the headboard. He can feel Brock moan around him and his thighs begin to ache. The knot in his low belly tightens more as he pushes himself to get off faster. He closes his eyes and finds himself fantasizing a little about getting roughed up and carried while being fucked. 

Brock moans, hips bucking up into the air. Desperate to fuck into something. He's close to coming untouched from this. His fingers dig hard into Frank's thighs. A whimper escapes.

Frank thrusts slower as he grips the headboard harder, another moan pours out of him. "Baby 'm close!" His knees buckle slightly and he pulls back and out of Brock. He gives him a moment to breathe before going back in.

Brock sucks him hard and fast, tongue lapping and swirling around Frank's cockhead. Another moan rips out of him as his hips buck into the empty air. He just needs a little more...

The moan pushes him over the edge, his hips stutter as he pushes as far down as he can before he spills into Brock. "Fuck!" Frank cries out as he holds on to the headboard to not fall.

Brock grips Frank's hips and swallows rapidly around his husband's cock, moaning at the taste. His hands move, caressing over his husband's thighs, back, and stomach. He loves him so much.

Once he's finished, he eases out of Brock's mouth and collapses between his husband's legs with an exhale that comes from deep within his belly, "Fuck, I love you." 

Brock fights to catch his breath, chest heaving hard. His head is spinning from the reduction in air and the arousal. His cock weeps angrily at not getting the attention it demanded. He chooses to ignore it for now. "Love… you… so… much. Fuck. Amazing." 

"Love you more.", Frank says softly. He wanted to be fucked stupid but that's not going to happen. He sits up a little and grins at Brock.

When he can breathe properly, he grins at Frankie. Sitting up and pulling his hubby into a brief kiss, he swings his legs over the edge of the bed. He grabs the lube from their bag. "Hands and knees or face down, ass up. Take your pick." 

Frank crawls onto his hands and knees. His head drops a little as he relaxes, "This okay?" 

Kneeling on the bed behind Frank, he grabs his love's hips and presses his cock between plump cheeks. The angle isn't quite right but it's easily adjusted with a slight nudge of Frank's legs. "Perfect. You ready? Want me to prep you a little?"

"I'm ready. If you want, I just want you," Frank replies as he looks back at his gorgeous husband.

"Good." Quickly he coats his fingers, sloppily scissoring and prepping Frank's tight ass. He's too impatient to wait. Withdrawing and pouring some lube on his cock, he shoves in hard, bottoming out in one smooth motion. A deep moan escapes.

"Oh shit!" Frank cries out at the quick fullness. His fingers curl the blankets in his hands as he lets himself adjust around Brock, "Fuck you feel so good!" 

"Jesus. Fuck, you feel so tight," moans Brock. The heat is so intoxicating. He pulls out and rams back in as hard as he can. Nails dig into Frank's hips, leaving little half-moon dents. He starts at a hard, brutal pace. 

"Fuck! Oh god!" Frank cries out as he tights around Brock. He lets his body get battered by Brock's hard and fast pace. He drops his head as a louder, harder moan drops out.

Adjusting his angle, Brock reaches down and roughly grabs a fistful of Frank's hair, twisting the locks and shoving his face into the pillow. His hips never stop their onslaught. The other hand swings back and lands sharply on Frank's cheek. "Fuck you feel so damn good. Wanna hear you, baby."

The sting of the slap causes him to cry out, "Fuck baby! Feels so good when you fuck me like I'm a fucking whore!"

Another slap. Brock growls, "You like that, slut? You like feeling the pain? Are you a fucking pain slut?" 

"Oh fuck yes! I wanna be bloodied and bruised. I'm a bad little slut." Frank cries out as he tries to pull away. He wants to get Brock to growl at him. He wants to feel it later.

A snarl escapes and he rains blows hard on Frank's ass, upper thigh, and back. "You stay the fuck here you filthy fucking whore! Take it!"

"Oh fuck daddy! Yes!" Frank cries out as he squirms and clenches around Brock. This is exactly what he wants. He wants it rough, something, a challenge that popped up in his head slips from his lips, "Is that all you got?" 

The hand that was buried in Frank's hair moves off and goes for his throat. It's heavy, carrying all of Brock's weight. He spanks him harder, feeling the sting in his palm and fingertips. "Who's your fucking daddy, you little bitch?" 

Frank moans as loud as he can, "Fuck! Oh, fuck! You!" The sting of his ass, hard brutal pace, and the pain at his throat make his head spin.

"You gonna come for your daddy, whore?" Brock shouts at Frank, spanking him repeatedly. He's nearing his peak again and he rabbits into Frank frantically.

"Yes! Fuck yes! Make me cum from pain! Please!" Frank cries out.

Brock gets an idea that he prays will land right. Rearing his hand that he is spanking Frank with, he swings it down hard and under Frank's body, slapping his husband's cock full force. He can't hold back any longer and he comes with a hard cry. "Fuck!"

Frank cries out and feels himself break as the pain rushes through him. He comes again as he struggles to keep on his knees.

Brock crumples over Frank and has just enough presence to remove his hand from Frank's throat. He pulls out and falls to the mattress, panting hard like he ran 4 marathons in a row. "Holy fuck. Are you ok?" 

Frank nods as he catches his breath. His ass burns and his cock does too. "You're amazing. Are you okay?" 

Brock can't talk very well just yet and he raises his thumb in answer instead. He motions to Frank's cock. "You…?" 

"Stings. But okay." 

"Sorry." His heart feels like it's in his throat, constricting his air. He works on deep breathing to bring him back to baseline.

"Don't be." Frank rolls over and drapes a leg over Brock's and rests his head on Brock's arm.

He pulls him close and kisses his temple, fingers carding through his hair in stark contrast to how they were just a few minutes before. "Love you. In a few. We shower. Ok?" 

"Love you more." Frank kisses Brock's wrist, "Yes baby. Please." 

In the communal kitchen, the boys are cooking breakfast with music blaring. Ray paces outside on the phone. 

"How long do you think they will stay in bed?" Mike asks.

"Not for long, we have a writing session and a demo recording session in two hours." Gerard comments as he flips the french toast.

"True. Are we gonna work on the song from the plane?" Mike asks. 

"Yeah! Why not!" 

He puts two servings of food for the boys. He serves up the rest of the guys, "Eat up." 

Frank saunters into the kitchen with wet hair. He moves with caution as his ass stings, "Hi guys!" 

"Hey!" The band calls back to him.

"Where's the husband?" Ray asks.

Brock descends the stairs, carrying his shirt. He has his phone in the other hand. "Hey, boys. Something smells good in here. And it's not just Frank."

"Aw, baby!" Frank looks up at him with a dumb smile and googly eyes. 

"French toast, bacon, and scrambled eggs," Gerard says as he pulls the plates from the oven.

"Nice." Brock places his phone on the counter before sliding on his shirt. "What have we got to drink?" 

"Coffee, milk, and tea," Ray says meekly.

"Sounds good. Thank you, Sunshine." Brock gets himself a glass and pours himself some milk. He's awake enough to not need coffee this morning and he doesn't drink tea anymore. Moving to the table, he takes his seat next to Frank, reaching out and slapping at the too-loud noisemaker.

"Right, it's not posh enough for the prince." Gerard jokes as he turns it to Vivaldi.

"I just wanted it off the screaming but this works too." He glances at the second plate of food and dismisses half of it. He won't eat eggs anymore. The French toast is too much. It's too heavy for him. He might try bacon. He sighs, feeling guilty and like shit that Gerard made him food that's just going to go to waste.

Frank doesn't say a word but rises from his seat. He makes toast how Brock likes it and brings it back. He takes the french toast and gives him his bacon.

"Gerard, I'm sorry," Brock whispers. A hand rubs over his face.

"It's… all good," Gerard replies a little confused. 

Frank takes a bite of french toast, "These are fantastic." 

"Thanks." Gerard asks, "Are you on a diet, B?"

"I don't eat eggs anymore," he replies. He knows that's a non-answer but he doesn't care.

Frank sighs.

"Oh. Okay." Gerard can feel the tension between them. He doesn't want to bring it up and cause a problem, so he drops it. 

_Don't feel bad, he doesn't eat anything I cook or bake anymore._ Frank thinks to himself and scowls. He gets up and pours himself a cup of coffee, "We are writing and recording demo stuff?" 

"Yup." Mike nods, "Is it a diet thing? Or allergy, B?" 

Instead of answering, Brock forces himself to take a bite of bacon. It's small and tastes like ash on his tongue. He sets the slice back on his plate. He speaks softly, "Sunshine?" 

"Yeah?" Ray pipes up.

Frank makes a note to get him more of the shakes. 

"Do you remember… the night I came back from Italy last year?"

"I do."

"And we talked with the ladies in my study before you asked to see my safe," Brock nods, sipping the milk.

"I do. What about it?" 

"You remember what they said… about dinner." Brock pauses. He hates to admit this, even if it is offhandedly. But he can't keep hiding it forever. Not when they are back on a tour. "It didn't go away."

"Brock." Ray's face falls slightly. His heart hurts for his best friend, "Why didn't you say something..." 

"Because I hate it. And I can't fix it. So I hid it. You and Frank are the only ones here who know. I spoke with Sam about it months ago. I'm… I'm trying. I am. I swear. We're working on it."

Frank clenches his jaw. He's not hungry anymore. 

"Brock. This is why you are so...frail." Ray moves closer. 

"I'm _trying_. It's hard. Okay?" Brock's voice pleads for both Ray and Frank to understand. It's a war in his head and it's mentally exhausting three times a day. He feels like a failure. He's letting them down. He should just shove the food in his mouth and suffer.

"I know, babe," Frank says softly as he rubs Brock's back. 

"It's...ana huh?" Mike asks.

He nods then shakes his head. "Sam uses that but it's not that technically. I'm not afraid to gain weight."

"I'm sorry B." Mike rises and hugs him. 

"What can we do to help?" Gerard asks. 

"Who's ana? And why is she stopping him from eating?" Bob asks, he's helplessly confused.

Brock laughs helplessly in the shared hug of his boys. It's not funny but Bob's innocence was just adorable. "Not a person. Disorder. My brain is fucked up. Anorexia."

"Brock. Oh, I'm so sorry." Bob says squeezing him.

Frank takes his plate and throws the food away. He can't fix Brock and he feels like he's failing him. He's trying. He leans in and kisses Brock’s cheek.

"Frankie. You should eat," Brock says softly under the cuddle pile sans Gerard and his husband. "Please don't be upset, love." 

"I'm not upset. My stomach hurts." Frank says as he dumps his coffee and switches to water, "I'll go out and get you shakes." 

Gerard hugs him from behind.

"No. I'll do it. I need to at least try." Brock turns to Gerard, "I'm sorry, Emo. I didn't mean to make you cook all the extra food. I hate wasting food."

"I'm not worried about the food. I'm worried about my friend." Gerard says softly.

"I'll be okay," he whispers. "I'm learning to trick my brain. Er, attempting to."

Frank pulls his phone out and texts Jack. He knows how to cope with his feelings without making Brock feel worse. 

_Frank: Will you send me work out stuff. Like HIIT or something._

_Jack: Yeah, sure. Gotta keep up your strength on the road. I want to make sure I have a decent opponent when you get back_ 🤣

_Frank: Oh I plan to run circles around you. I am totally gonna kick your ass, big brother._

_Jack: Yeah, good luck. I'll send you the workout._

"What do you mean by tricking your brain?" Ray asks.

Brock pulls out of the cuddle hug rather reluctantly and pulls the plate towards him. "If I focus on the food… I find it harder to touch it. I have no desire to eat. I. I know it's fear-driven. But. If I don't notice. Don't focus. It's easier. I don't puke as much."

Ray nods as the wheel starts turning in his head. He's got an idea. He knows that the other will help him. He kisses Brock's forehead, "As long as you're trying." 

"I am. I'm talking to Sam weekly or bi-weekly depending on our schedules. I'm supposed to have a protein shake at least twice a day. And to try food each meal. I don't _have_ to…but. I try. And to try not to throw up. But I do sometimes and I'm working on not feeling bad about it. And vitamins. To keep things balanced."

Frank steps into the other room. He grabs a guitar and notebook then returns back to the kitchen. He failed his husband but at least he can do this without screwing up. He looks at the boys, who are still smothering his husband in a hug.

"I love you, boys. I love you, Frank. I'm sorry I ruined breakfast." He hugs the arms around him, kissing each available hand and arm.

"We love you, Brock!" Ray says over the others. 

"You didn't ruin anything." Gerard says softly as he pulls away. 

"Okay. Just… since I'm sharing..." Brock pauses. "There's a few things… I'll never eat again. Okay?"

 _Eggs. Bread. Yogurt. Oatmeal. Meat. Cheese. Pasta. Sugar._ Frank thinks. It's anything that he could cook. 

Bob notes the body language of Frank by the fridge. He can't tell if he's mad or not. But it's for sure standoffish. 

"Okay! That will help us to help you!" Ray nods as he pulls away.

"We'll fix you, B." Mike says with a nod.

"Okay. No eggs. Or tea. Or oatmeal. Yogurt," he nods. He knows better than to argue that wasn't how things are supposed to work. He eyes the bacon and forces himself to take a bite. His entire body tenses and a cold sweat breaks out.

"Don't forget to call your sister." Frank reminds Brock. 

"Yeah. I will. So, uh, what's… whatcha doing?" Mentally he's pleading for them to distract him. He is fighting hard to not bolt from the chair.

"Oh we are just going to finish the song we started on the plane. We might actually write the music part of it. We have to get at least a song a day out and I think we can do this." Mike says with a smile. 

"Oh, cool. Uh, question. And please don't mind my stupidness," Brock asks, sipping his milk.

"Go for it!" Ray smiles at his brother, "Only stupid question is unasked."

"Isn't this tour for the very album you have yet to make? Or… is it just the same songs as last year and you're making the new one?"

"It's for the new record. We have about 8 songs written and recorded. They are demos. We’ll take it to the producers and they will help us make it sound better or ax it." Ray starts, "The album won't take long to make. And our fearless leader already has the tour set decided." 

"Costumes and all!" Gerard grins.

"So this month is making the album and next is the tour?" Brock asks, frowning. Wasn't that kind of short notice?

"Oh. No. This month is writing and recording. They produce it and put it out next month or the following one. We’ll make a music video and promotions. Then we are on the road." Ray explains. 

"Oh, that's cool," he replies. "Are all the songs like the one you did on the plane?" 

"What do you mean?" Frank asks, he notices the two unhappy bites of bacon taken by Brock. 

"I mean, all full of fire and brimstone and going to hell and such."

"Yeah." Gerard chuckles, "The album has a storyline… wanna hear it?" 

"Okay."

"The man dies from, like, cancer and it's his journey through the afterlife."

"Cancer," Brock tilts his head. "Odd choice. Why?"

"It's the most tragic. It's something that you can't stop. It takes a young man's life with no care," Gerard says with a nod, "The album is kinda like the stages of grief." 

Brock thinks about this absently. "Why are you focused on death?" 

"Well. I think it's cause I have had a weird attraction to it. But also, death can be a rebirth. It's not the end." Gerard nods, "Also, my brain is constantly telling me to do it." 

"Do it… as in…" Brock looks at Gerard, alarmed. He knew what it was like to have the demons in your head constantly _encouraging_ him to take his life.

"Yes. You aren't the only one who struggles with life and death." 

Brock looks at Gerard and the others, one by one. Realization sets in that they, too, struggled the same as he fills him with sadness. Frank and the others don't make eye contact with him. A sad smile appears on his lips. "I'm sorry. For… assuming. I love you, boys." 

"We love you too," Gerard smiles as he pats Brock's arm. 

"Did you wanna sit in on our writing session?" Ray asks. He glances at the plate and notices the bacon is disappearing the more they talk.

"I promised I would call Brooke first, but maybe after. Is that okay?"

"More than okay!" Ray grins. He's excited to share this with Brock. And maybe he can be wowed by Frank's playing and writing. 

"Okay," Brock grins.

"I have the idea that the man dies and remembers his childhood. Then he starts to remember the things he's left behind. He gets angry. Then he accepts what's happening and we close out with a big final song that seals the whole album." Gerard smiles, "Do you wanna see the rough drafts of what's in my head?"

Brock squints, “Is this the one that the douchebag McClain was talking about? The demo, thing? Or a different song?”

"Song and sketches." Gee says grinning. He's antsy and excited.

“You have art? Okay. I’ll look,” Brock nods, taking a drink of his milk. He notices it’s nearly empty. When did that happen? 

Gerard pulls out his sketchbook and opens it, he flips through pages that are colorful and stopping on the black and white sketch of a parade. He slides it over to Brock. "The uniform would be what the band wears." 

Brock looks it over and notes the little details. Like how the buttons on the coat were in rows running down their chests. While the sketch lacked a hat, Brock could easily envision it. “So you are a marching band, then?”

"Yeah!" 

Frank snorts, "For what a black and emo parade?"

“Black and emo is a terrible name. This looks more like the black death parade,” Brock comments, turning the page to see another sketch of the parade members. One of them looks like it’s wearing a gas mask. “Are you sure cancer is the cause of death and not the black plague?” 

"I mean, the death is irrelevant. It's the crossing over." Gerard answers. He sees everything on the plate has been finished, "Death is the celebration in the end." 

Flipping over the page again, Brock sees a patient attached to an IV line with what looks to be a bag of blood. He begins to speak his thoughts aloud, putting the story together, “So the Patient has cancer, he’s getting treatment but it’s failing. He dies and death comes for him…. As a parade? Because celebration. Death is a black emo parade? And you said he fights it at first but comes to terms, right? So he’s a ghost now. Or just dead. He would join the black parade then, kind of like the Irish Wild Hunt legend. Which is kinda cool.”

"Right! Maybe he looks back on his life and realizes he's done bad things. Or regrets maybe not saying ‘I love you’ to this special someone," Gerard offers.

Brock nods, “That’s why I make sure I say how much I love you boys all the time.” 

"It's important." Frank says softly. He's still standing by the fridge. 

"So, do you still hate it?" Gerard asks.

“The concept? No. Jury’s still out on the lyrics,” he smirks. Without looking at the food on his plate, he slides out of his chair. If he doesn’t see it, he doesn’t have to eat it. “I’ll be right back, okay? I should get one of my shakes and call Brooke.” He turns and leaves the kitchen.

Frank watches his husband leave the room and frowns. He follows Gerard into the large room, it looks like it was once a ballroom. He plugs into a small amp and waits. The guys plug-in and start working. 

Soon the band is writing the lyrics to the song. Ray turns to Frank and smiles, "I was thinking of doing a building sound."

Ray plays a few chords and looks at Frank. The wheels are turning, he nods and picks up. The sound turns very dark. 

"Maybe we can make it more playful to start." Gerard states. 

Frank sarcastically plays, in his head he beats the melody out. Its sound is bouncy. 

"Yeah!" Ray grins wide.

"Mama, we all go to hell." Gee sings out. 

The boys work the song out so it sounds good to them. They make small changes and additions and are satisfied with what they have made. 

Brock slips into the room with a protein shake in hand, a straw sticking out of it. He leans against the wall and listens to the upbeat tempo and finds it not terrible. Maybe this album won’t be so bad after all. Moving to the couch, he sits and drinks his chocolate “milk”. Now that the others know his secret, he doesn’t have to worry about hiding anymore and he’s happy with that. One less thing he doesn’t have to worry about.

Frank and Ray play off each other with big stupid grins on their faces. "Who's the lead guitar here?" Ray laughs. 

"I dunno…" Frank winks. 

Brock decides to add in his two cents, “Sunshine is guitar god.”

"Babe!" Frank protests, "Who's your husband?!"

“You.” He smirks, “Sunshine is still guitar god.”

Frank flicks a guitar pick at Brock. He pulls a new one out and looks at the boys. 

"Wanna hear it?" Gerard asks.

“Hear what?” Brock asks absently as he tries to locate the small plastic thing that hit him. It’s like it disappeared as if by magic. Bastard.

"The song!" 

“Yeah, okay…. HA!” Brock holds up the guitar pick triumphantly and flicks it back at Frankie just because he can. He sips on his shake. “Go ‘head.”

He catches it and grins at Brock. Ray starts the song off and before he realizes it the song is over. It's a tough version but it's good, he thinks it's good.

"Well?" 

“It’s bouncy. Upbeat. Can you do it again… but, sorry Emo, but can you not sing this time?”

"Can I ask why?" Gee asks. 

“I don’t like the lyrics,” Brock shrinks a little. “Sorry.”

Ray cackles and nearly falls out of his chair.

"Ouch, B." Gerard shakes his head. He knew better than to ask.

“At least I’m not saying your singing sucks, though? Right?” Brock offers weakly and with a chagrined smile.

Ray snorts before he centers himself and starts the song off, they play through. The whole band stares down Brock. They are waiting for his approval.

Brock is silent a moment, focusing on slurping the last bit of Ensure out of the bottle. He knows the boys are waiting on a verdict from him but he’s feeling playful. Finally, he realizes he can’t stall any longer and looks up at them with a grin, “I like it.”

"You like it? Like for real?" Bob asks. 

"You hate our music." Mike says flatly.

He pouts at their disbelief. “It’s good. And more upbeat than the other songs. And Emo wasn’t singing– sorry. It’s good. Kinda catchy.”

"I think it's a good one. Especially if Brock likes it," Frank says with a smile. 

"Send it off. That's one more in the bag!" Ray nods to Bob who is working on the laptop. 

"Done!" 

~~

The boys spend the next few days writing new music during the day. The downtime is spent hanging out. Ray leaves Brock friendly snacks around the house to encourage him to eat. A little wash of relief hits them when Brock mindlessly snacks. 

The strange happenings begin to kick up. Items would go missing only to turn up in strange places. Shapes that move in the corner of your eyes only to not be there when you'd turn your head. 

Frank slips into the bed and tries to relax. "Babe, come to bed and cuddle me." It had been a rough day. He'd sliced his arm playing and it aches. 

"Innaminute," Brock replies around the toothbrush in his mouth. He spits in the bathroom sink and continues scrubbing his tongue. Once he's satisfied, he rinses and swishes with mouthwash. Cleaning up his mess, he grabs his cane and heads into the bedroom, crawling into the bed and curling up around Frankie.

"Better?" 

"Yeah." Frank says with a trace of sadness in his voice.

Brock nuzzles the back of Frankie's head. "What's wrong, love?" 

"My arm hurts." Frank pouts. 

"I'm sorry. Did you clean it and put Neosporin on it?"

"Yeah. How are you feeling?" 

"Hmm? I'm okay. Why?" His arms wrap around Frank tighter, mindful of his injured arm. He's a little cold and he doesn't like it. That part of him rather wishes the boys would join the bed again. He was extra toasty that way. Frank was amazing and perfect and he loves him but his husband just doesn't put off any heat as Sunshine or Rabbit does.

Frank tries to figure a way to explain it without blatantly saying, "I'm worried you're starving." He doesn't realize the words come out before it's too late. 

Brock pulls away from him a little, hurt by the words. "I'm not. The meal shakes are quite filling. And full of nutrients."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," Frank speaks softly, "I'm an asshole."

"I know you didn't mean to," he replies, rewrapping his body around his husband. "Doctor Choi said my numbers were still in the okay range during my last appointment. I know you're worried and I'm sorry."

Frank feels the bed dip next to him. The space in front of him gets cool. He opens his eyes seeing his breath and sees no one sitting there, "Tell me you felt that?" 

Before Brock can respond, their bedroom door opens.

"Brock… I think there is someone in the kitchen. But we're all in bed…" Gerard says quietly.

"Are you guys gonna sleep in here then?" Brock asks. "Because if that's the case, I'm gonna have to enforce the no-pants rule. Just to whoever is at my sides. I get too hot otherwise."

"No. I just. I assumed you'd go check," Gerard says, "but okay. I'll go look."

"What, you mean it's not the ghost just wanting a midnight snack?" Brock grins as he slides out of bed, kissing Frank in the process. Grabbing his cane, he uses it to lift his underwear from the floor and slide the fabric on.

"Yeah I think Casper is throwing a tantrum in that case. It sounds like someone is throwing things in the kitchen," Gerard says softly.

"Alright. I'll check it out," Brock replies as he grabs his gun. "It's a shame this place doesn't have better security. When I walked the building, I realized that anyone can just pop open a window in the east wing and enter due to age and water damage. No cameras and no alarm either makes this a perfect place to break in for kids who are looking for thrills, just like you."

"I've never broken into anywhere," Gerard says confused.

"I would totally break into here and explore," Frank snickers.

"Gerard, I'm not gonna lie. I'm having a hard time believing you've never broken into a place. Isn't that standard for emos? Or is that a goth thing?" Brock snickers as he heads for the door. He ruffles Gerard's hair affectionately before shoving him towards Frank. "Go keep my hubby company and stay out of danger. Don't let him talk you into shit either. I'll be back."

"Hey!" Frank calls out.

"Love you!" Brock calls back with a laugh. He makes his way down the hall. 

"We should do like a spirit board and see what we are dealing with." Gerard says sitting in bed with Frank.

"I don't. I think Brock wouldn't like that. He's superstitious," Frank replies.

"I found one in my room," Gerard grins, "I'll go grab it."

Gee hurries out of the room and into his own room. He grabs the beat-up old board game then hurries back to Frankie.

"See!" 

"Why don't we wait. See what Brock says," Frank speaks with a nervous edge to his voice. 

"Okay… how are you doing? The whole Brock thing has to be heavy?" Gee asks.

"I'm fine. We are good. He is working on it every day," Frank lies.

Gerard pulls the board out and holds the planchette in his hand, "Come on! It could be fun!" 

"That thing is bad." 

"It's made by Milton Bradley. It is cardboard," Gee snickers.

"Superstitious. If you wanna ghost hunt, I'm in. But not the Luigi board," Frank shrugs.

"Pussy."

"Sycophant," Frank snorts. 

~~

Brock makes his way, slowly and carefully, down to the kitchen. Gun at the ready, his eyes check every shadow and corner for an intruder. As he goes, he turns on lights. He's not going to be the one who dies in the first five minutes of a horror movie because he let the bad guy get a jump on him. After checking the surrounding rooms, he enters the kitchen and curses in Italian at the sight.

Every cupboard is open and empty. Its contents are thrown about the kitchen. Plates are shattered across the island, floor, and sink. Glasses and silverware appeared as if they, too, were thrown haphazardly onto the floor. The countertops are completely covered in glass and porcelain. Even the pots and pans were discarded and found themselves onto the floor. It was a disaster. 

"Motherfucker," Brock grumbles to himself. It's going to be a bitch to clean up and he's not looking forward to it. He snaps a few pictures to share with the boys. He glances around, doing a brief spot check for the possible intruder. He sighs. If word got out that they were staying there it would make sense that kids would sneak in, encourage the "haunted house" effect and destroy one room and then leave. It was the only explanation he could come up with to rationalize why the rest of the house was spotless.

Leaving the kitchen, for now, he continues, checking each room for an intruder and leaving the lights on in the process. He checks the windows and doors for any breaks or loose latches. None of them seemed to be compromised. There seemed to be zero evidence that there was ever anyone in the house, to begin with. With a frown, he finishes his rounds and makes his way back upstairs. He'll clean the mess in the morning. 

"Anything?" Frank asks as Brock closes the door behind him. 

"Kitchen's an absolute–" He cuts off his sentence at the sight of Gerard and the Ouija board. He scowls in annoyance. "Really?" 

"It could be fun, right?" Gerard grins.

"No. Why do you even have that shit? Frank, I thought I told you to be good. Why are you playing around with your weird death toys?" Brock sighs and stows his gun and phone away.

"What! No! I said no, you are superstitious about these things!" Frank shouts as he points at Gerard, "It's his! Not mine!" 

"Gerard, shame on you. I thought you were the innocent one."

"Come on! It's a board game, let's play!" Gerard grins.

"Hell no. I'm not summoning demons in my room. Take that away. I don't want to see it again," he scowls. "House is clear of intruders. Only the kitchen is destroyed. Gonna be a bitch to clean in the morning."

"We could do it in the living room?" Gerard offers.

"He's gonna say no. But maybe we could get like a ghost box thing and see if there is a ghost here?" Frank smiles wide, he's not totally innocent. He just doesn't mess with Ouija boards.

"Both of you are heathens. Gerard, take the board and burn it. Or just get it out of my sight. Scootch. If you wanna come back, fine by me but you gotta clear it with Frankie." Brock stretches and sits on the bed, grabbing his phone and opening up the photos app. He debates calling the police and making a report.

"What's that?" Frank asks, "Looking at porn?" 

"I took photos of the kitchen. Debating on making an incident report. Want to see?" He offers the phone to Frank.

"Sure!" Frank says, taking the phone, "What are you gonna say? Casper vandalized our kitchen?"

"It was a fly-by spooking!" Gerard giggles.

"While that is pretty funny," he chuckles, "no. Because ghosts aren't real. I didn't check every single entry point so it still could be kids doing a prank."

"Or it's a ghost. You really didn't feel someone sit on our bed before Gee came in…" Frank asks as he hands the phone to his husband.

"He also thinks we are just misplacing things too," Gerard says with a huff. He slides out of the bed and stretches. He grabs the board and offers it to Brock, "You sure?"

"I'm positive. Get that thing away from me, please. Are you staying or coming back for a sleepover?"

"I can." Gerard says softly. He looks at Frank who shrugs. 

"If you want." Frank replies, he's not keen on it but obviously, Brock is.

"It's your decision. You're the one who's a scaredy-cat. You decide. If you come back, that's ok. If not, we'll see you in the morning," Brock says, moving to strip off his underwear and get into bed.

"I'll pass tonight. Unless something happens, then I'll be back." Gerard chuckles.

"Goodnight then."

Gerard sees himself out and leaves the boys alone. 

"What would it take for you to believe me that this place is haunted?" Frank asks as he lies back on the pillows.

"An actual spirit apparition," Brock snorts, curling around Frank and kissing his cheek.

Frank shakes his head, "My skeptical hubby." 

"Damn right. I don't believe in ghosts. Now, enough of this blah talk." Brock snuggles closer to Frank and wraps his limbs around him.

"We can talk about aliens if it will make you happy?" Frank teases. He cuddles closer to Brock, "Maybe bigfoot?"

"How about fairies," Brock giggles.

"I'm in bed with one..." Frank giggles.

"The best kind to boot."

After a moment, Frank takes a breath and relaxes, "Did you talk to Jack?" 

"Yeah. Yesterday. One of our warehouses was burned down."

"About the house and– what!" Frank barks.

"It was empty at least. I don't know if it was intentional or not. But either way, no one got hurt."

"New York or Capri?" Frank asks, he looks up at his husband very concerned. He's worried about Jack, "I'm glad no one was hurt. I'm glad Jack wasn't hurt."

"Sicily, actually. It was a storage facility holding smuggled merchandise and weapons. Worth millions. I'm not thrilled about losing it."

"Fuck, what are we going to do about it?" Frank asks as he shifts in bed, he rests his chin on Brock's arm, "I'd bet money that _you know who_ is responsible for it."

"It seems like we have had something happen every month since December." Frank comments.

"Oh, you're absolutely right. He's not even hiding it anymore. Not really anyway. We know it's his men. Our men have been retaliating." Brock sighs.

"And the other families aren’t saying anything? This is bad for business no matter how you cut it," Frank wrinkles his forehead with a frown.

"Oh, they are. Pretty pissed off too. Dad is trying to set up another meeting between him in Pietro to avoid a full-on council meeting. If this doesn't get resolved, this bloodbath is only going to escalate. Gotti might lose his son if he's not careful."

"I would want to be there when that happens if I can't be the one to do it," Frank grumbles, "He tried to take the love of my life from me twice."

"He's gone off the rails. He needs to be handled before he exposes us or causes us more financial loss."

"I have a question," Frank says as he traces a scar on Brock's arm.

"Hmm?" 

"What would the situation be that would take you back to Italy?" Frank asks.

"If there's a full council meeting, for sure. I'm a part of that. And while I would like to have you with me, if it happened in the middle of the tour, I wouldn't have you leave the band."

"Oh. I would like to go with you." Frank speaks quietly, "As a show of support. And you know maybe a chance to put a bullet into _him_."

"On one hand I don't want you killing anyone but on the other hand, you talking about it is kinda hot."

"Yeah?" Frank grins at him, "Maybe I should learn more about this and really get you worked up…"

Brock grins and kisses him lightly, "You're incorrigible, you know that? We should sleep, _tesoro_." 

"You like me that way." 

"I do. But we also need to get up early tomorrow."

Frank sighs, "Oh I suppose." 

He leans up and kisses Brock softly. 

"I love you, baby." 

"Love you more." 

~~

"Grocery store. Someplace for lunch. Maybe window shopping…" Gerard says with a nod as the band buckles in for an adventure.

"Sounds like a good plan to me," answers Brock. He starts the SUV. "Where to first?" 

"Lunch." Gee says

"Yes! Food!" Mike says with a smile. 

"Got a place in mind?" 

"Maybe a place with a healthy menu." Frank suggests. 

"They have In and Out," Mike offers. 

"Look up some places and decide. I'm just the driver," Brock snickers, "which means…. I get to pick the music."

"No opera!" The boys call out in unison.

Brock laughs and fiddles with the radio. "I do listen to other things, I have you know." 

"No classical music." Three voices from the back shout.

"You're killing me, smalls." 

"English lyrics with a drum." Ray says with a smile.

"Now you're just demanding too much," he laughs. He sifts through all the rap and country stations. "Besides, it's my choice. Not yours."

"You have terrible music taste," Gerard smirks.

"And yet I choose you boys, so what's that say about you?" Finally, he comes across a station that is playing soft rock. It's bearable.

"How did you survive the seventies and eighties?" Bob asks.

"I was in the military at that point. So, by dodging bullets." He looks at them in the rearview mirror, having stopped at a red light. "Do we have a location yet or am I just driving in circles?"

"The Morrison. American cuisine and it's three blocks up." Ray says happily.

With a nod, Brock keeps an eye out for the building as he listens to the radio. He almost misses it but it's able to pull into the restaurant's parking space. Getting out, the boys head inside.

The place is playing Queen over the speakers. The tables are set up diner-style while the center of the room is a bar filled with hundreds of bottles with a restaurant kitchen window in the center. 

Mike takes a seat at a table and watches his friends and brother join him, they each open a menu and scan it. His own eyes fall over the drink menu. A tall thin dark-haired man with a brightly colored tattoo sleeve approaches the table. 

"How's it going!? What can I get you guys to drink?" He grins at the table, "My name's Kellan!"

"Gin and tonic." Mike orders.

Brock looks up at Mike-n-Ike with surprise written all over his face. He hasn't heard his candy boy order anything alcoholic in months. He silently vows to make sure the younger Way sticks to just one drink. Maybe two.

"Whiskey and coke." Ray orders. 

"Bud Light," Bob says with a smile.

"Rum and diet coke." Frank nods.

"Iced Tea," Gerard says with a small nod.

"The sweet tea vodka iced tea?" Kellan the server asks.

"That one!" 

The server turns to Brock, "And for you, sir?"

"Coke." A part of him wants wine but he knows better. At the state he's currently in, it would get him nearly plastered. Besides, he could use some caffeine. Coffee makes him sick now.

The server smiles, "Any food?" 

"Nachos." 

"Chilli Fries."

"Onion rings."

"Potato skins."

"Nothing for me."

"Could I get a cobb salad?" Frank asks. 

"Sure! I'll be right back with your drinks and put your order in." Kellan grins wide at them before leaving.

It doesn't take long for the drinks to come and the conversation to start up.

"You really didn't listen to any music when you were in the military?" Mike asks Brock as he takes a huge drink from his glass.

"It's not something we had access to very often," he replies. "It was a luxury."

"I'm sure you had men in your _company_ that liked music?"

"Of course. Again, when everything you need to survive is shoved in a backpack, things like a music radio wasn't an option."

"I have heard you yell at someone named Murphy, who was that? Or is it a weird Rumlow thing?" Gerard asks.

"Have you ever heard of Murphy's Law?" Frank leans into Brock with a grin. Gee nods.

"Okay, so there was this guy on my team whose name was Issac Murphy. And true to his namesake, anything that could go wrong with him _did_. He was a human disaster. Pissed me off to no end. Annoying as fuck with some of the bullshit and random facts he always had coming outta his ass. But damn if he wasn't the best pilot we had. Or maybe the only one or the only one crazy enough. I don't know. Frank would have liked him."

"Frank? Why?" Ray smirks.

"Murphy was a huge environmentalist and animal rights activist. And ate Vegan."

"He's a good dude." Frank smiles.

"Was."

"He was your preparation for Frankie," Ray offers, "Cause Lord knows he's trying at best."

"Oh, Murphy was a million times annoying. He'd talk literally non-stop. Whether you wanted to hear it or not."

The server drops off the plates and smiles, before he can speak, Mike lifts his glass, "Can I get a refill?" 

"Sure! I'll be right back," Kellan says. "Anyone else need a refill?"

"Mikey," Brock warns.

He ignores him and smiles at Kellan, "Thank you!" 

Frank sits quietly and chews on his over-sized salad. He's hoping maybe his husband will help him.

"How's the house coming along?" Ray asks. He takes a bite of a french fry.

"It's good. I'm really impressed. Jack's stoked about his house. They haven't started the pool though, which is fine. But the structure is done. Now it's just the inside."

"You said something about a recording studio?" Ray asks.

"Yeah! Attached to the main house is a huge space that's going to be your full-service recording studio. It's soundproof from the outside."

"I assume that you wouldn't want to hear anything coming from it." Gerard chuckles as he takes a chip.

"Hence the soundproof part," Brock snickers.

"So, are you making the house baby proof?" Ray asks.

"House, no. But I've got a ton of those baby clips to get the little emos out of cabinets and other dangerous spots. Don't worry, they'll be safe. I'll probably install a fence or gate around the pool for wayward toddlers."

"Fantastic! What else did you add to the place?" Ray adds.

"Oh, I decided on a sauna."

"Frankie, are you gonna get that pet you've been pushing for?" Bob asks.

Frank chooses to stay quiet and let his husband speak.

"No, he's not allowed. After you guys stop touring, then we'll consider getting a pet."

"Oh." 

"Are you gonna have a housewarming party?" Bob asks.

"Pfft, of course!" Brock takes a long drink of his soda. He didn't know why he was so thirsty.

"I was thinking of maybe if it's okay, doing a theme party?" Frank suggests to Brock before he takes a bite of salad. 

"Sounds like–" 

Frank looks at his husband, "Babe?"

"I don't… uh." Brock's hands turn sweaty and his heart picks up speed. His stomach cramps. He's too hot. "I… sorry. I'm not…."

Brock bolts from the table and hurries as fast as he can with his cane into the bathroom.

Frank runs to his feet and hurries after his husband, "Babe?" He stands outside of the stall.

"You don't want to be here," Brock replies miserably before he retches again.

Frank takes a deep breath, "I'm not leaving you." 

Brock coughs before he's able to speak. "I'll be fine. I know you don't– aren't okay with this. I should be done soon." The reprieve doesn't last long before he's hurling again.

"I'll–" Frank gags, "I'll be here."

Brock moans from the pain and exhaustion and settles down next to the toilet. He might as well get comfortable until he's finished.

~~

_Ray: hey Sam, so. Weird thing that's happening._

_Sam: Hey Frank. How's it going. What's up?_

_Ray: So Brock will mindlessly eat. Like as we talk, he snacks._

_Sam: Really?! That's fantastic to hear! Any calories at this point are good. We can work with your doctor later about eating healthier. But this is great news! How's he taking it?_

_Ray: he does not know he's doing it._

_Sam: Huh. Just goes to show that hunger wins when it's not blocked by extreme intense fear of purging. This is still good news._

_Ray: agreed. How do we keep him from getting sick? If he does catch on?_

_Sam: What has he been eating?_

_Ray: he’s had toast, bacon, and nuts. Raisins. Edamame. He ate some chili fries and a couple chips._

_Sam: More food than he's had in months. The chili fries I wouldn't recommend._

_Ray: not at once. Just small intervals._

_Sam: Point still stands. If you remember, we were having a hard time getting anything in him other than the protein shake, Italian ice, and the occasional jello. If he's snacking, it's best to avoid greasy or high fat foods. Anything heavy would make him sick. Considering the anorexia stems not from gaining weight but from fear of being sick, anything that does make him ill will only add to his trauma._

_Ray: I know. We will make sure that he gets good healthy things in him. We just wanted to make sure that we weren't doing something bad?_

_Sam: I don't think so. Though Dr. Choi and Hope might disagree. At this point, we must get more than 400 calories a day in him. Otherwise, I'm going to have to recommend he be put in a facility. And I know both of you don't want that. I don't want that either but we may not have a choice. This is progress._

_Sam: How are you doing?_

_Ray: great! Everything's rad. Hunkie doorie_

_Sam: Frank. I thought we got past you lying to me. You know this isn't your fault. And you aren't failing him._

_Ray: I mean. Things could be better. But I think I'm doing good_

"Fuck." Ray hisses and quietly asks himself, "Why would he feel that way? He isn't starving Brock?" 

_Sam: It's not Brock's either, no matter how much he thinks so. I know this is hard for you. It's not something that can be fixed overnight and you tend to punish yourself for not being enough. We've talked about this._

_Ray: I know, I know that. I'm trying. I mean, the relationship is normal. I think we are okay. Coping. We are talking more. It's not just physical._

_Sam: Good. The only thing you can do right now is be supportive. It's okay if he doesn't eat. Not because it truly is. We both know it's not. But because he feels guilty for not meeting expectations. That's why we talked about a zero pressure environment. And why I think you shouldn't tell Brock he's been eating. Just like you feel you aren't enough for him he feels the same of not being enough. Your self-esteem issues the both of you have are the same from different causes._

_Ray: I promise I'm trying to not blame myself or take it personal. I just want to make him feel good and feel happy. I am afraid of losing him._

_Sam: I know. And I know it's a lot. It's not easy. But that's what a good support system is for. You have me and the band. And your family. It's okay to lean on them. Burden shared is a burden halved._

_Sam: How's your sex life? Any more issues with Ray?_

_Ray: the sex life is great. Active._

"With Ray?!" Ray asks with a frown. _I thought we were good_.

_Ray: things with Ray and I are good..._

_Sam: Good. Glad to hear. But it's best if you cut back on the sex. Activeness burns calories. Calories that he doesn't have. Instead of daily sessions or multiple times a day, I would recommend maybe cutting that in half...maybe a quarter to start since I know that is hard for both of you. Agressive Sex could burn 100 calories, easy. Perhaps switching something less active? Masturbating uses very little energy and you two could do it together. Just a thought. Do some research first though and definitely speak to Dr. Choi about it as I'm not a medical doctor._

"Hey! Guess who's back!" Frank says with a cheerful voice. 

"Hey guys," Brock greets weakly. He's a little pale and his voice is hoarse. He's having trouble meeting their eyes.

"We got you some water," Gerard says with a smile.

Ray passes the phone to Frank with a frown. 

"Thanks," Brock replies softly. He slides in his seat and takes a hesitant sip. The cold tends to make his stomach cramp up and he's already exhausted from the purge.

Frank scans the texts and his face is red. 

_Frank: we will make sure to not be so active. I don't want to make him sick._

_Sam: Okay. Good._

_Frank: I gotta go take care of Brock. He's eaten too much and is sick._

_Sam: Alright. Take care of yourself. Call or text if you need me. I'll talk to you later at our next session._

_Frank: okay! Thank you_

Frank rubs Brock's back. He feels terrible for tricking Brock to eat. 

The rest of the meal is quiet. Gerard pays the tab and the band heads back to the SUV.

"I need to pick up strings." Ray comments, "Can we swing by a music store?"

"Yeah. Sounds good. Maybe you guys can pick out equipment for the studio?" Brock moves for the driver's door and gets in.

"Are you sure?" Bob asks.

"Yeah, I'm feeling a little better. Just give me the directions, okay?" 

Gerard plays the directions on his phone.

Frank sits quietly beside Brock. He's not looking forward to telling Brock about having to cut back or out sex.

"Did you want to listen to something else?" Brock suggests to the band.

"Here. I got it." Ray leans forward and presses a button and the DJ announces Pearl Jams up next. 

"Perfect." Ray pecks his cheek.

"If you say so, Sunshine." He shakes his head and grimaces at the noise. He decides to change the subject. "So what sort of stuff do you want in the recording studio?" 

"Mics, stands, speakers, headphones." Ray rattles off. 

"I picked out the mix board," Frank says softly. 

"Is Brock gonna see the full collection?" Ray asks. 

"He's seen some." 

"I've probably only seen ten percent of the collection, I bet," smirks Brock softly. He's tired but only physically.

"That's fair, I have a lot! " Frank says as he takes Brock's hand.

"Gonna need a storage unit for all of it, right?" Brock smiles at Frankie before making a turn that will take them to the music store.

"Probably. I've been good. I haven't bought any new ones since Christmas." Frank smiles warmly.

Brock pulls the Lexus into the parking lot and shuts off the engine. "That's good. And don't worry about getting a storage unit. I've got a plan about that that I think you'll like. Come on."

The boys enter the music store and quickly dispersed among the different sections, except for Frank who sticks close to Brock, hand in hand. Brock wanders around, not having any clue at what he's looking at. He stops at speakers.

Brock raises his voice a little so the other boys can hear him, "How big of speakers should we get you?" 

"Well, they usually are my hip height at the tallest." Frank smiles at Brock. He runs fingers over a speaker, "Are you feeling ok?" 

"Better. I mean, good. But tired. No more sick feeling." Brock takes a breath, "I just wish I knew what made me sick. I thought the soda was gonna be okay…"

"You probably just drank it too fast," Frank runs his hand over Brock's back.

He nods. "Maybe. Haven't been drinking a whole lot other than water. And milk which doesn't hurt my stomach for some reason. I'm not gonna question that. I like it. Kinda like my Ensure. Did you wanna look at something specific? For your guitars?"

"Sure!" Frank smiles, "My love, lead the way!"

"Yeah no," he laughs, "I don't know my way around here. It makes about as much sense to me as your music does."

"Alright, come on," Frank chuckles and walks slowly with him towards the guitars. He gets sucked into the guitars. He pulls down a deep blue one and disappears to an amp with headphones, leaving Brock alone. 

Brock smiles at Frank before wandering through the store in search of the other boys. He comes across a baby grand piano in white marble. It draws to him. With a little grin, he sits down and looks around to be sure no one is watching. He didn't want anyone to hear him play around. He has no skill. A little sense of giddiness fills him as he presses a key slowly. The note is barely audible so he tries it again, too hard this time and it startles him. Oops. He quickly glances around to make sure he's still safe in his corner. That note was kind of high pitched though and he didn't like it. He tries several keys somewhere around the center of the piano, pressing them randomly. Some of the combinations sound pleasant and he tries them again. He hits a white key and likes it. He pairs it with a variety of other keys until he finds a black one that seems to sound nice. Huh. He repeats it. Slower. His finger accidentally hits another white one further down and that works too. In a burst of curiosity, he slowly plays each key from left to right, white and black. He’s memorizing the sounds. He knows the keys repeat themselves and there’s an alphabet involved.

He’s invested in this now and cheats by pulling out his cell phone and looking up the keys and their corresponding letter. Slowly he plays the three little notes he strung together again and adds one more to the string. _G F# B E._ Hmm. It was nice. He repeats it but shifts it over just to see if they would sound better. A finger slips and ruins it but he tries again. He keeps his playing soft and quiet. This is just for fun and doesn’t want to be judged. He tries the G note again. It’s a good note. Funny how it’s called G cause it makes him think of Gee. Eventually, he strings 11 notes together based on sound and a little repetition of sorts. He’s rather proud of himself. He plays it together just for kicks, slow as he commits the pattern to memory. He kinda likes it slow. He takes a picture and uses the brush feature to write a number in the pattern. He’s not sure why; maybe Frankie will like it. He plays it again:

_G F# B E D G C B E A D_

Gerard stands just outside of Brock's view and listens to him play. He smiles softly at his friend playing.

Frank slips on the bench with his husband, "Keep playing!" 

Brock startles and jumps a little. His face flushes with embarrassment at being caught in his little mini play party. “Oh. Uh, hi. Sorry. I was just..”

"It sounded good!" 

“Really?” Brock stutters a little. He was just messing around to kill time while the boys shop.

"For real! It sounds amazing!" Frank pecks his cheek, "Don't stop." 

“Um. Okay. I was just making the notes sound good. I made a thing though,” Brock hands Frank his phone with the edited picture. He plays the 11 note string again, one finger touching each note firmly but not too loud and keeping the tempo slow. He falters, he didn’t have anything else to go with it. Yet? Was he supposed to? “Sorry.”

"Don't be sorry, it was good!" Frank strokes his cheek and kisses him, "Do you know how to play?" 

“No. I was just pressing buttons. I looked up the letters for the keys though.” His lips pull to the side, much like Frank tended to do. “I like this combo. And I kinda memorized the sound each key makes so that I could match it to the _G_ note. I like the _G_ note. It fits Gee.”

"You do like that _G string_ ," Frank smirks and bites his lip.

Brock snickers softly before playing the 11 notes again and this time adding a _D_ to it. He kinda likes it and adds a _G_ and _D_ to it. “Thoughts? Too fast? I can play it again? Or you can. You probably know how to do this properly.”

"I never learned piano." Frank smiles softly, "I like it. Play it again." 

“I’m fairly certain there’s supposed to be more than one finger involved, not gonna lie,” chuckles Brock softly before playing the string again. He repeats the 11 notes before tacking on his 3 new ones. On a whim he adds 3 more; _G F# D_

Gerard makes himself known and leans against an upright piano, "I like this a lot, Brock." 

Looking up, his face flushes again at seeing Gerard. He feels stupid because he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Not really. And yet they were being nice and telling him his little note playing was good. He looks down at the keys and folds his hands in his lap. “Sorry?”

Gerard can't keep the smile from his face. "Don't be!" 

“Should I keep going? I mean, you guys are probably wanting to leave. Did you get anything you wanted?” Brock is aware he’s rambling a little out of embarrassment.

"I think we got everything," Gerard says softly. 

"Do you think you can remember that for later?" Frank asks.

“Yeah. I also have my picture. Why? It’s just a bunch of notes. Not worth much.” Brock absently presses another key and he jumps again. Oops. A snicker escapes. There’s that _G_ note again.

"I think it's important and worth something." Frank leans up and kisses his cheek.

“I think the G and the F sharp are pals. They sound good together,” Brock says with a smile. A smile that fades as he looks at his two-man audience and realizes their initials are the same. It’s a good thing he said pals and not something else. He quickly plays the whole string again, adding more and more notes to make him happy he made a thing again.

Frank looks at Gee with a smile before whispering in Brock's ear, "I bet we can learn the piano if you want?"

“Uh, sure? I don’t know, actually,” he admits. He can’t see himself ever playing again. This was just to satisfy his curiosity. But maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. “I don’t know but maybe I can try?”

"How about you think about it?" Frank asks, "If not. No big deal." 

The boys all slowly appear with their purchases. Frank holds Brock's hand as they walk outside. He watches Mike who had purchased the most. He'd drank the most at lunch. 

"Let's go get some food!" Ray says chipperly as he climbs into the SUV.

Frank looks up at Brock with concern. He will talk to him later about his concern. Instead, he climbs in and goes along for the ride. 

At the store, they pick up the items needed for dinner and extras.

Mike puts a hand cart full of candy and alcohol on the conveyor belt towards the cashier. He looks around for Brock and smiles cause he's in the clear.

Brock struggles to try to keep a headcount of the boys and to make sure they are getting actual food and not junk crap. He’s keeping an extra close eye on Sunshine this time. He’s not leaving a man behind again! He wanders the aisles and focuses only on looking for his people, avoiding all visual contact with the food itself. He did it once on accident already and his stomach cramped as a result. “Frankie? Sunshine? Rabbit? Gah, where are they?”

Frank pulls out a small container of almond milk. He turns and sees his husband looking pained. He joins his side and takes his hand. Frank speaks calmly to ease his hubby, "Bob is in the bathroom. Mike is checking out and Ray's with Gerard." 

“Okay. Hi.” Brock sighs a little in relief. “Are you getting just almond milk?”

"No. But you seem distressed."

“Yeah, just a little. It’s harder to keep track of all the boys when we’re in a big store like this. What else are you getting? I thought… maybe chocolate milk?”

"Bread. Cheese. Cheese-Its. And coffee. Oh, creamer too." Frank says thinking, "I think Mike bought a lot of candy." 

Brock groans. “He does not need a ton of candy. Just because it’s his nickname… What about veggies and fruits? Meats. Am I going to have to bring in a chef to keep you kids from living on junk?”

"Yes. That's not a bad idea. Go stop him."

With a huff of annoyance, Brock turns on his heel and heads towards the checkout, cane clanking on the linoleum floors. He’s muttering under his breath about the annoyance of kids. They might as well be freaking teenagers with the way they act over their eating habits. He struggled so freaking hard not to baby these young men. Hell, he did anyway, and look where it landed him. He left to learn not to control things. And every time he reigned himself in, they made poor decisions. His leg is burning from the hurried walking he’s done twice in one day and he hates himself for it. He hates that he cares sometimes. He realizes as he approaches the checkout area that he’s too late. He spots the young Way by the door with his bags in his hand. He sighs and turns, slowly walking and heavily limping. Maybe he’ll find Frankie again. And get that chocolate milk. 

Gee and Ray come around the corner and smile, baskets filled with actual food. 

"You good, B?" Ray asks.

“No,” he replies a little too gruffly. His care is quickly being stripped away with every step. He doesn’t do well with the fire.

"Why… why don't you go to the car? I think we are all done." Gerard suggests. 

He goes to argue but stops. He doesn’t need chocolate milk. He sighs and grits his teeth against the pain. He begins to make the trek out the door. “Okay.”

Mike and Bob sit in the way back bickering when Brock gets in the car. They go silent as soon as the door closes. Brock exhales hard and lays down across the steering wheel. His fingers grip the wheel tight enough to turn white as he focuses on his breathing. He’s praying in his head that if he just rests, the fire he’s tried so hard to control will go away. He doesn’t have his pills; he hasn’t been needing them so much.

"Brock," Bob asks, almost nervous to let the words out.

“What?”

"Do you need, like Tylenol?" Bob asks.

“Do you happen to have any?”

"I do." 

“Please.” The words come out like a whine. How much longer were the rest of the boys going to be? Motherfucker this was all Michael’s fault.

Bob hands him the bottle of Tylenol, "Here, ya go." 

Mike stays quiet. 

Brock takes the bottle and pops three Tylenol dry before tossing the bottle over his shoulder knowing that Bob would catch it no problem. He lays back down on the steering wheel and returns to his breathing exercises.

Mike shifts in his seat, he's starting to sober up but doesn't want to draw attention to himself as he reaches into his pocket and cracks a small bottle open, and chugs it quickly. 

Gerard opens the back door and slides in with Ray following. Their bags rustle a little between their feet. 

"At least you didn't leave me, B." Ray says softly. He can see the distress of his friend.

With a groan, he sits up, expecting to see everyone back. “I’m very happy to not leave you behind, brother. Where is Frank?”

"He was in line. He had to go grab something." 

On cue, Frank pulls the door open and slips in, "Sorry. An old lady in front of me paid in change." 

“It’s okay, can we go home now?” Brock says in one breath while starting the car.

"Yup."

"Please. 'm dying for comfy clothes," calls Mike from the back.

Brock pulls out of the parking lot and actually speeds back to their place. He slows only when he’s near common speed traps and to obey all other laws. The fire in his leg burns and he swears it’s only getting worse. He hasn’t felt this bad in a long time. He had forgotten how bad it was. Pain was relevant. No matter how many times he burned, it never got easier. He takes several deep breaths to keep himself from cursing up a storm. Frank didn’t like it and he tried hard to keep the other boys away from the bad stuff.

Frank holds on to the 'oh shit handle'. He wonders why Brock's mad. When the SUV stops at the mansion, the boys roll out. Frank waits for Brock to get out of the car, he's worried. 

Brock gets out carefully, hand tight around his cane. He takes a step and screams, “Motherfucker!” The pain takes his breath away. 

Frank's eyes widen and he moves to Brock's side, "Brock?" 

“My… leg,” he pants out. “Took Tylenol. Bob’s. Think driving. Worse? Ohfuck this hurts.”

"Okay. Let's go back to the car. I'll go get Ray. He can help me get you inside. Keep breathing deep." Frank says, trying to keep in the panic.

He tries to breathe and nods, carefully pivoting to sit back down. Another cry escapes and several curses in Italian. 

"Lean on me." 

He does and manages to return to the seat. He leans heavily against the plush material and panting. “Good. Go. Hurry, please. Burns.”

Frank rushes inside and goes to Ray, "I need your help."

Ray doesn't question it, he just follows, the look on his face tells him something is wrong. He rushes out to the car and Brock's side. 

"Brock. Hey! What happened?" Ray asks.

“Leg,” is all he can grit out. He’s on the verge of either screaming or crying. Maybe even both.

Ray nods, "Alright. I'm gonna carry you in." 

He shakes his head. “Too heavy.”

"Nah. I've been lifting 345. I know you ain't more than 345." Ray says with a smile, "Bridal, fireman, or piggyback?"

He hesitates. There’s a large part of him that is afraid he’s going to be dropped and then he’ll be in even more pain. But he also knows he can’t walk the distance into the house. Not right now anyway. The pills he took haven’t even touched the pain yet. He has to choose the least dangerous method that won’t hurt his leg. Even if it is absolutely embarrassing. He sighs and concedes, “Bridal. Please don’t drop me. Please don’t hurt me more.”

"I'd never drop you." Ray says stepping in, he scoops Brock up and carries him inside. He doesn't stop until he reaches Brock's room.

He lies him down on the bed, "See. Didn't drop you." 

Frank doesn't follow behind. Instead, he gets a shake and pulls out a pill for Brock. His heart is broken. He can't help but blame himself. Once he hits the door, he changes his expression to calm, "Hi baby. Let's soothe this fire." He hands over the pill and his shake.

“Isn’t it too much?” Brock groans out. He took 3 Tylenol. Wasn’t that overdoing it?

"Take it. You're in a lot of pain." 

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He takes the pill and downs the shake quickly. Probably the quickest lunch he’s ever had. Handing it back to Frank, he tries to keep his breathing under control again. He waited too long. Overdid the things today. He shouldn’t have “run” after Mike-n-Ike. Not after he had to run to the bathroom earlier. He’s exhausted. The whole situation was giving him hospital vibes. Memories of the week of hell he spent in the hospital surface and he groans. He says softly, “Thank you, guys.”

"Any time Brock." Ray rubs his arm, "I think you need to talk to your doctor."

“Why?” he pants out. “Just. Need rest. Shouldn’t try to run. So soon. Please. Don’t leave me. Yet.”

"I'm not." Ray smiles and sits at Brock's feet. 

"I have to put groceries away, your milk will go bad," Frank says with sadness in his voice. 

“You got me milk?” Brock smiles weakly. He’s so thankful for his hubby. He doesn’t want him to go either but he knows the food will spoil if nobody else does it.

"Chocolate like you wanted." 

He nods, “Yay. Thanks. Hurry back. Kay?”

"Of course." Frank nods. Frank leaves and walks down the hall. A tear runs his cheek that he wipes away before he enters the kitchen.

He puts the things away, grabs two bottles of water, and heads back to his husband. He slips into the room.

Brock smiles softly at Frank when he enters. The fire still burned blazing hot but it was starting to ease. More than likely it was from not moving and resting than the pills as his pain meds took more than just a few minutes to take effect. He almost misses the morphine drip. That was fast relief. He sighs, today sucked but it was also nice. A hand extends out to his hubby. “I love you. Sorry I hurt me.”

"Don't apologize to me. But I love you too." Frank sits beside his husband and takes his hand.

“Who am I supposed to say sorry to then?” he murmurs. He turns to Ray, “Sorry? Was I heavy?”

"No. You weigh like 120 now. It was nothing." Ray tries to play it lightly. He gives Frank a look. 

Frank's eyes shoot to the bed as he speaks, "Cute, Rumlow. You don't have to apologize. You didn't do anything wrong. But I'm sorry I didn't help you wrangle more."

“I overdid me. My fault. Sorry me.” Brock laughs with his eyes. He’s afraid to move too much in case it makes his pain increase. He turns to Frank, “It’s okay. You did good. Got help. Good puppy.”

Frank nods. This is why he was working out. He's gonna have to be able to lift Brock. He probably could now. "Kitten." 

“Kitten’s don’t fetch big brothers,” Brock grins. “Puppies do.”

"Okay. Fair enough." Frank chuckles. 

His eyes close for a moment and he sighs hard. The fire was fading. The pill was kicking in and washing away the burn. Not quite as warm watery as the morphine drip was back in the day but more like what cool cream on a burn would feel like. The burn was still there but dulled under the coolness. Taking a deep breath, he opens his eyes and looks at his two favorite people in the mansion. “I’m good. Better. Thanks.”

"Rest, baby," Frank speaks softly, "Close your eyes." 

“What about your music stuff,” he mumbles. He doesn’t want to take a nap.

"What about it babe?" Frank runs fingers in Brock's hair.

“Emo wanted my notes,” he replies.

"Notes?" Ray asks.

Brock grins proudly at Ray, “I made a thing.”

"Oh! Awesome!" 

"Brock wrote music." Frank strokes Brock's hair. Frank kisses his husband's temple. Brock needs sleep, it will make him feel better. It will also give him time to go for a run and do the workout Jack sent him.

"It's G… good note." Brock nods. He's sleepy. So very tired.

"Wanna write it down?" Frank asks, "I can find paper." 

"No. Later. Sleep first." He can't fight it anymore. His eyes begin to drift. He wants to turn to his side but is afraid to move. "Cuddle?" 

"I'll leave you, boys, to it." Ray pats Brock's leg.

"I'll cuddle for a while. You just need sleep, baby," Frank says softly while he brushes Brock's hair. Before he realizes it, his husband is snoring softly. He stays with him for a while until he knows Brock is out for sure. Frank slips out of bed, changing, and is out the door running before anyone notices his absence.

Bob looks at Ray with a frown, "Somethings wrong." 

"What do you mean?" Ray asks.

"Frank's off. Mike's drinking. Brock's not eating. I swear it's you and me who are ok." Bob sighs. 

"Frank's dealing with Brock is weighing on him," Ray comments, "I don't know what's going on with Mike. And Brock... I'm scared for Brock." 

"Me too."


End file.
